


of blood and silver

by BitterlySpiteful



Series: Above [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Angst, Fantasy, Found Family, Magic, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, War, Worldbuilding, attempted regicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterlySpiteful/pseuds/BitterlySpiteful
Summary: With their secrets still biting at their heels, Nitram and Martin are pitched back into their homeland and forced to own up to the past. Seto, along for the ride, gets dragged into a war he should hold no part in.Book Three of the Above Series





	1. and, oh lord

Zach thinks his lungs might burst, but he can't slow, can't stop, oh _god_ what had he just done? Attempted to do- No, no, it was clear as day, he'd just tried to kill the _heirs_ and-

His King is going to kill him. He's going back home, and he's not going to get to say goodbye to his wife, not before his King chops his head off at least. Oh, _god-_

A strangled curse comes from behind him and he flips around in the air, drawing in heavy, panicked breaths. Kaizen is still behind him, red eyes glowing so bright in the dark that Zach thinks he might combust. It's possible - he really wouldn't put it past a royal to be able to do that.

Fear making his wings seize up, he drops twenty feet, and hastily flaps away from an island swinging in his direction. Kaizen is not so lucky; he smacks into the ground with a sound of pain. Heart quickening - the longer this goes on, the more charges will be read out on his execution day - Zach rockets away, swiping past another island and swerving around it. Unfortunately, there aren't any small spaces he can crawl into and hide, so he drops down into a low-hanging cloud and prays Kaizen can't hear his wings and heartbeats. 

No luck, though, because Kaizen comes howling after him, splitting the clouds with a few furious wingbeats. Zach cries out as spines from his wings come lancing in his direction- His tail snaps right and he throws his weight aside just in time to miss most of the blades. One slices across his thigh, but he grits his teeth and doesn't stop.

He _must_ get back home. The King can't simply be left without an answer like that, or the war will escalate even more than it already has. Zach knows that if he doesn't return, Muran will assume the worst, and finally unleash the armies. His stomach curdles at the thought of his son being conscripted.

"Fuck _no_," Zach hisses, rolling just in time to evade Kaizen's outstretched, bladed wings. He beats heavily upward, and thanks the stars for a sudden swell of heat to help him rise. Kaizen catches on the same thermal and ascends after him. Zach puts on a burst of speed before diving for another island. Kaizen doesn't fall for it this time, but Zach was planning on it, and he glides for a moment to pass over the land, then resumes his dive. The whistle of metal shrieks after him and he risks a glance back. Kaizen is following now, his weight helping him in the dive - that's when Zach sees he has no tail. 

Knowing he has the advantage, and at the same time mourning the prince's mutilation, Zach turns forward again, hearts in his ears as he plunges toward the ocean. He swallows thickly and sends another prayer skyward.

And he slows. There's heat behind him and the glow of fire magic tints the ocean's dark waves. Closer, closer, so close that he would've pulled out of the fall on any other occasion. The fire singes his heels and, two feet before he hits the waves, he snaps his wings out and wheels away. There's an angry shriek behind him and he turns in the air as Kaizen _slams_ into the ocean, sending up a spray of saltwater and mist from the fire. 

Zach waits a few painful moments, and then Kaizen resurfaces, howling at him in anger. Knowing the prince will be alright - there's a Ground island not too far, and any angel worth their damn knows how to swim - Zach turns and speeds away.

He has to stop, just once, on an outer junkyard island. The glider is there, hidden beneath a few slabs of scrap metal. Zach heaves them off of it, legs and arms shaking from the exhaustion. He just has to get back. He _needs_ to get back, this can't wait. 

The glider's engines whine to life as he activates the sigils. He pauses to breathe, the scent of rotting garbage and old metal heavy in the air. He looks back toward the main cluster of lights, seeming to still be so close. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Zach clambers onto the glider, snapping the carabiners together. He lays his wings flat and _shoves_ with his magic. The glider lifts off the ground. Slamming the rear pedal down with his tail, he slips back into the sky at a pace far too slow for the knowledge he carries with him.

[...]

"Make this quick. I'm busy."

Zach opens his mouth, eyes trailing the pen the King is signing with. "Well, Sir, I, uh, I went there, right, and-"

"I said quickly." The King glares over his glasses at him, eyes narrowing. A growing sense of suspicion draws his brows down. Zach gulps. "I assume the job is done, considering you're back here. _And_ considering their armies have withdrawn, and the white flags have gone up..."

"Well, Your Highness, actually, um-"

The King slowly puts his pen down, a look coming over his face that Zach _fears_. He shivers, taking a step back then falling into a respectful bow. "I, uh, I think that- That-"

"Spit it _out_." Now Muran rises, wings rattling. "Did you get the job done, or-"

"Your brothers are alive!" Zach blurts, scrambling back. "I- Lazarus is the new head General, Sir, he's- I tried to- And, oh lord, I think he has an heir, too, and-"

"They're alive?" The King... sits down, and takes a breath. "Both?"

"Yes, yes- Kaizen chased me, actually, which- Makes sense, sort of, because I tried to- Um- His brother- I didn't realize, of course, Sir, I swear on my hearts, I didn't know it was him until his heir turned on the lights and-"

"Dismissed. Dismissed!" The King stands abruptly, coming around the desk and all but ignoring Zach's stuttering. He looks toward the scribe, "Get me a tagalong and a long-distance set of wings. Now!"

The scribe hurries out, and Zach desperately wants to follow her. The guillotine still hangs over his head, he feels. "Sir, I- I tried to kill-"

"I think," the King says slowly to him, already popping out his current pair of wings and gathering a few things around the office, "that you should take a very long vacation. Go somewhere nice, Zach. The beach, maybe, or Japan. Go."

Taking that as the good grace it is, Zach scurries out, whispering thanks and prayers and unintelligible words under his breath. The first thing he does when he arrives home is kiss his wife. The second thing he does is cry into her shoulder. The third is hug his son tightly.

And then the fourth thing he does is pour himself a very tall glass of whiskey.


	2. well, damn your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't already, you should go read the extra things i've written for the series. they provide a bit more detail that will only be mentioned in the main books. so.
> 
> anyway, enjoy
> 
> title taken from 'sam hall' by johnny cash, though i can't say the song really fits this chapter.

"Hold still," Baki orders, snapping the needle through the skin. The fingers twitch slightly, and Baki moves his free hand to grip them tighter. He chances a glance up at the man, noticing the immediate familiar features. The sharper cheekbones, the nose, the brows. He's not identical, not like Nitram and Martin are, but he's obviously of the same family. 

He's very obviously the royal he saw in the battlefield all that time ago. Muran isn't looking at him, but when he stabs the needle through again, he does. He meets his gaze and frowns. "Something wrong, doctor?"

Baki glances toward the twins, talking quietly to themselves in the kitchen. Seto is _gods_ know where, so Baki assumes he's safe. "The blood debt is repaid," Baki mutters, and ties up the stitching on the wound. "Doubly."

This garners absolute confusion. Muran sits back and tilts his head slightly, raising an eyebrow and _damn_ he does look like the twins. "Blood debt? I don't know what you're talking about."

His accent is heavier than Nitram and Martin's were when they first arrived. Baki returns his frown. "You... Um. Huh."

Is there a god damn _fourth_ brother he doesn't know of? Maybe their father? Oh, hell, Baki can't be sure about anything anymore. Still, that royal on the battlefield spared him and Simon's life. He had to repay it - and keeping the twins' secret was payment enough. But if this isn't who he saw, then... "Never mind, forget I said anything."

Muran looks to already be two steps ahead of him; his eyes have trailed back to the twins. Their talk seems to be getting more heated. Muran's tail twitches slightly. 

"Don't stress it," Baki says, already packing away his medkit. "And don't go grabbing any more goddamn blades."

Muran casts a quick glance at him, then looks away again. His hand having been properly stitched up, he stands and nearly hits his head on the balcony. His horns hit instead, creating gouges in the wood. Nitram and Martin look over at him, then hastily finish their conversation with a long look. 

Baki's job done, he starts packing up the rest of his shit, keeping an ear out on the conversation.

"-come back to the East, yes?"

"Muran, we can't just leave everything here. We- I have responsibilities."

"There are eleven other Generals, ten of which seem to actually be fit for duty. They can manage. My kingdom is managing without me, at the moment. I can't stay for very long."

"Look," it's Nitram speaking now, and Baki glances over at the cold tone in his voice. "Martin, obviously, he wants us back. It seems things aren't... what they seemed to be."

"I'm not sure what kept you away," Muran continues, and his voice softens slightly, "But your country misses you. _I_ missed you. And now, you even have an heir, and-"

"We _will no__t_ bringing Seto into that," Martin hisses sharply. "The kid doesn't know anything about that. And-"

"We'll work something out. For now, though, I just... let's just-" Baki starts to head toward the door, ignoring the rest of the conversation. Junys is in bad shape - he'd already checked on him, first, but there's no telling what that madman could do to himself. He waves a hand and hears Seto call out goodbye from the upper floor. Sneaky little bastard, listening in. But that brings a chorus of goodbyes from the twins. 

Winging into the sky, Baki takes a moment to check on his medical supplies, thinking. A long time ago, when both he and Simon had been in the army, Simon had been mortally wounded. It had taken Baki's shifting magic to heal him, and he'd been caught in the act by an eastern royal. He was _damned sure_ that had been Muran. The only reason he really knew anything about Nitram and Martin at all was for how similar they looked to that man. But the royal had left him alone, and had evidently kept his secret. 

The problem was, that _wasn't_ Muran. He wouldn't have forgotten about something like that. At least, Baki _hoped_ he wouldn't because that doesn't tell well for how he might run the east. Not as if he has anything to say about _that_, either. But it leaves a biting worry about the whole blood debt - the man saved Baki and Simon's lives, so Baki made sure to keep the twins' origins a secret.

Well. Baki isn't quite sure what to do about the fact that apparently the man who let him live is _not_ the man currently sitting in Martin's living room.

They must be multiplying. It's a horrifying thought.

[...]

"Surely, if I can leave _my_ country just to come and make sure you are both alive, then you can also come home!" Muran insists, waving a hand in a vague gesture as he continues. "It's not as if there aren't eleven other Generals to deal with things. I have only myself."

Martin flinches at that but remains stubbornly where he is. Arms crossed and leaning against the kitchen counter. "Look," he says, adopting the tone their dad did when arguing with Mom. "We came here for a reason, and we're staying here for that exact reason."

Muran resists the urge to growl, taking a deep breath before arguing back, this time with much less anger in his tone. "I'm not _saying_ that you have to come and take your birthright- Though, that would help _immensely_ with everything going on. But- Lazarus, Kaizen, you must understand, you left your family behind. You left your _country_ behind, and-"

"And we didn't want to run that damned place anyway!" Martin protests, raising on hand and snarling at him. Nitram is wisely staying out of the argument, for the most part, but at this he butts in. "Martin, he just said we won't be dealing with the politics. It's a visit. It's _home_. And- And-" _And just because you didn't want your birthright, doesn't mean I didn't._

Martin opens his mouth to argue, then closes it, staring at his brother with a hard look. And then a voice from behind the three of them says, "What's the east even like? If it's anything at all like here, then fuck if I wanna go."

Muran turns toward the heir- _Seto_, he reminds himself. Such a strange, human name, for an eastern angel. And really, such profanity too- They'd have to work on that. Probably Martin's influence, damn. Seto pauses at the three of them turning toward him, one hand still resting on the banister. He shrugs. "I don't want to go, so."

"See?" Martin says, pointing. "Not even the kid wants to go. So that's settled, then. It was nice seeing you, Muran, but-"

"Oh, that's nonsense," Nitram bites, and Muran rubs a hand over his face. "Martin, you and him can just stay here, if you would like, and I will pack up and leave and never return."

At this, Martin goes very, very still and quiet. His glare speaks volumes, though. 

"You could," Muran says, a bit more gently, now, that _that_ is on the line, "Request that General Brian runs things while you are on leave. As I understand it, he _was_ a brother to the old general."

Martin runs his thumb across his nails, scowling. "That damn pig barely knows how to keep-" He cuts himself off, and looks distant for a moment. Muran makes a mental note to get him to some psychiatrist in the east or something; these spells are frequent, he's noticed, and he's only just arrived. After a moment, Martin raises both hands in an exasperated shrug. "Let me think about it," he mutters and pushes past both Nitram and Muran to quit the room.

They all watch him go, and then abruptly Seto asks, "But hey, did you guys, like, get me new board games or something? There's a pile of them in my room that wasn't there before."

[...]

"Well, if it's anything to go off, I would kill to see my brother again."

"Oh?" Martin gently weaves the glowing sigil through the air, watching it spin and reform into another as the tattoos move across his skin. "Where is he?"

"Dead," Aza says, reading through the newspaper in front of him. He takes a drag from his smoke. "He died, uh... Oh, let me think, some dozen trillion years ago? I'm the only one left, at this point, but I doubt Val or Julen will want me to leave any time soon."

"Well," Martin says, somewhat uneasily, and the sigil flickers and dies in front of his hand. "That's, uh... Yeah. I hope you stay around to."

Aza huffs then mutters something under his breath. He flips the page and reads for a moment. "And in any case," he says, "You need to go. I told you before, Martin, you're going to have to go on a trip. My husband really wants things to go smoothly, we can't Wipe this world yet, it's too young."

"Right," Martin says, feeling a bit sick at the idea. He has no clue what is included in a _W__ipe_, but from the sounds of it, it's nothing good. "Yeah, I- I just-"

Aza finally folds the paper away. "Things will be fine," he says, "They'll go smoothly."

"Yeah. I'm sure." Martin thinks for a moment, staring at the gears and bolts and wires scattered on the counter of his workshop. He leans heavily on it, hearing the wood creak slightly. And, after a long few beats of silence, "Yeah, I'll go."

And from the doorway, Nitram says, "Oh, thank god. Martin, what the hell, though?"

Sitting up, startled, Martin glances toward where Aza had just been sitting. The stool is spinning slightly as if someone got off of it in a hurry. A bit of cigarette smoke still lingers in the air, but the draft from the open window carries it away before Nitram can even notice.

"I just- Nitram, don't you think it's too big of a risk? You know what would happen if they- If they found out what... happened." Martin sits down on the stool Aza had been. Nitram sighs and goes over in front of him, leaning right where Martin had, but with his back to the wall. 

"Look," he says quietly, "If we avoid this, it'll look even worse. It's better to just... I don't know, Martin? I really don't. I mean, this was bound to happen eventually, you know? And besides, I think you need to remind yourself that _you're_ the one who brought attention to us."

Knowing that it would have happened either way- Well, that doesn't help anything. Aza had given him that little tidbit of information a month ago. That no matter if he had formally requested a duel or not, he would have wound up killing Nathaniel anyway... Yeah, Martin doesn't like to think about that too much. Especially considering he hadn't even _known_ Aza yet, and the man and the gods' plans were so intertwined in his life _already_. So instead of defending himself, Martin says, "It was stupid. But... I guess we can't go back, anyway."

Knowing if Aza can bring Seto back to life, he could probably damn well reverse time- Fuck, Martin needs to stop _thinking_ about that. "We'll go, I won't argue. We need to bring Seto though."

Nitram gives him a strange look. "As if we weren't? Kid's already packing. I convinced him that the east is better than here in about forty seconds flat."

"Wonderful," Martin says and doesn't mean it.


	3. heaven's fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which the author doesn't want to write the whole travel time because that's boring as fuck, so he mildly timeskips through it.
> 
> important, though, so please read, or you'll think i've lost my fucking mind. 
> 
> this planet, which for now we'll keep calling earth, is much smaller than the earth we know. it has a total of only five continents on the ground, though these are drastically reduced in size. prior to the dredging of the americas, of course; now there is only most of 'canada', and with the usa, mexico, and everything lower almost eradicated. there is no antarctic, and there is no australia (at least.... not on the ground, hint hint ignore that anyway)  
the west _sprawls_ guys im not kidding.  
over in the east however, most of the continents and ground lands are still intact, with the angels over there mostly making their own islands.  
someday i'll draw a world map of this planet but today is not that day  
anyway, with the planet being reduced in size compared to ours, there are only nine months, with a range of 22-23 days in each, totaling about 210 days, give or take half a day or so. the year is 47328. no BC/Ad, that's that. (i'll come up with names for the months eventually but not now) anyway, i'll be adding dates each chapter, and sometimes multiple in a chapter if a day or more has passed. (especially in this chapter, but it should tone down after this one)  
end rant, until i think of something else to say
> 
> date of previous chapter was 04-16-47328  
anyway, there's some minor timeskipping in this. lmao have fun.

04-19-47328

"You're coming back, right?" Ethan asks, tilting the board game this way and that. Neither of them could read the instructions - strangely written in English - but Ethan already laid claim to the little metal dog, and Seto took the battleship. They've been racing around the board, folding the colorful sheets of paper money into wings and throwing them at each other.

"Yeah," Seto replies, if slightly hesitant, "I will."

An uncomfortable silence settles around them. Ethan begins folding a new piece of paper into a plane when he lands on the corner spot with bars and a man blowing a whistle. "But like... the guy just got here a few days ago. You _really_ need to go with him? Like, can't he go back, and then you guys, like, leave later?"

Seto shrugs, but offers no form of a reply. He isn't all that sad to leave, anyway. He _does_ want to see the east, considering it's technically where he came from. Or at least, where his mom came from. And besides, if all the food's as good as Nitram's cooking, it can't be that bad. "I'll bring you a souvenir though. What do you want?"

Ethan hums for a second, and then decidedly slams the dice down on the floorboards. He points at Seto and grins. "What if I go with you?"

"I... Ethan, I-"

"Yeah, I know, I know... Just, bring me whatever you want back. Try and get something for the others, too, they'll steal mine if I get something and they don't."

"No promises," Seto says, tipping one of the dice back to the single dot with his magic when Ethan doesn't look. He still can't do all that much with magic. Why, he doesn't know. He has the vague feeling Martin tried to teach him once, but they never did pick up on the lessons after that. Maybe it's something to ask about on the way over.

A thought occurs to him and he sits up. Ethan looks at him, puzzled. "What?"

"I just realized I have _no idea_ how we're getting there."

[...]

04-20-47328

"No," Martin says sternly. Pakka crouches down low, like a cat about to pounce. His tail wiggles back and forth for a moment and his golden eyes dart to where Muran is strapping things down on his tagalong. "You _stay_, Pakka."

"No," Pakka squawks back, "I _go_. Pakka go."

"No-"

"Give up already, Martin," Nitram calls, hefting a box of supplies onto theirs. He glances at Muran's tagalong, at the sleek wings and wind-buffers. Frowning, he grabs the ratchet straps and starts securing the boxes he's lined up on the wings. "He won't just stay here while we're all gone."

"Ethan might take care of him," Seto offers. Ethan chokes for a moment and huffs out, "The hell I will!"

"See? Pakka go." The dragon nudges Martin's middle, looking up at him with the best puppy-dog eyes he can make. Seto feels somewhat proud; he taught him that. 

Martin glares down at him, then shoots a look at Seto. He clears his throat and begins to speak, when Muran comes over. "Let me see," he says.

Pakka swings his head around, sniffing at him. He cocks his head so his good eye can view Muran more closely. The angel taps his fingers along Pakka's sides, studying the burn and whip marks for a moment with a troubled frown. After a moment, though, he goes further down the length of Pakka's body, and coaxes him to open both wings. "Sturdy," he says, to the one not maimed, but a glance at the other has his expression souring again. He ducks under the wave of Pakka's body and pulls it out flat, running his fingers down the kinks and broken ends of the membranes. He asks Pakka to move it and steps back to watch. Finally, he says, "He can make the journey, I think. How old is he?"

Martin shrugs so Muran looks to Pakka. The dragon also shrugs, then wriggles twines around Martin. "I go, then? Small-thing too?"

Martin rubs his eyes. Seto flinches at how tired he looks and quickly glances back down at the box he'd been procrastinating on carrying to the tagalong. He hears Martin mutter some sort of affirmative, and then Pakka's excited warbling. Seto glances up to find Pakka hopping about, floating in the air for a moment before landing back down.

"Go sleep, and eat," Martin says, gently pushing on Pakka's nose until the dragon stops bouncing. "Got it? Eat, sleep, then we'll wake you up and then we'll go."

Pakka chirps happily and whisks away to go snack on whatever he can find.

[...]

04-22-47328

Seto's _tired_. 

_Beyond_ tired, really, because he's been tired before. Like when he's flown too many races with Ethan in a day, or when Nitram and Martin fight, or when he stayed awake too long and the sun came up.

But this. This is _ridiculous_. He never gave much thought on how this whole- Moving from west-to-east thing worked. But it's not like there's anything _else_ to fly them- They only have their wings.

Though, Muran's nice little tagalong is a _wonderful _thing. It flies on its own, just like the larger version. Muran barely does any flying himself, just lays along it and makes sure it's stable and stays in one direction. So far, the smaller tagalong, which only carries their luggage, hasn't been used by anyone. Seto is sorely tempted, though, because there's a nice little nook between two cases he could probably situate himself in. He's done so before, but he just slept a few hours ago.

The past two days have only been flying. Muran's showed Martin and Nitram how to fly the glider - that's what he calls it, anyway - but neither of them seems to be tiring any time soon. Pakka, also, has no problem with flying along, though sometimes he'll hang back, head drooping, to take a quick nap in the sky.

Seto, however, is. He's also tempted to land on Martin's own, tug-along tagalong. It seems much less sleek and fast, though, and much more unstable. It doesn't have those interesting direct controls Muran's has. Already, Seto's looking forward to landing in the east, if _that's_ the kind of shit that's over there.

He reaches up to fiddle with his flight goggles, pushing them back against his eyes. They were once Martin's, and they'd cut a bit of length from them so they would fit. They keep slipping, though, so he guesses they didn't really do a good enough job. "So, uh," he calls above the wind, earning Nitram's attention. The angel backwings slightly to fall into place slightly ahead of him. "How long is this flight? Like... a week, right?"

Nitram hesitates. Seto's gut is already sinking. "More like a few months, actually. Hopefully, we'll arrive before winter, but I'm not sure if that will happen."

Seto groans and drops a few feet, then quickly rises to get back on the wind wake from Martin and Muran's wings. "_Really_?"

"We can stop if you would like," Muran tosses back, looking over his shoulder. The glider stays level, which is honestly very impressive. He continues, "I wouldn't mind, at the very least."

"Where would we even stop?" Seto spreads his arms down toward the dark ocean. It's pretty, from up here, what with the setting sun slanting golden light over the rippling waves. But there's no land in sight. "The water? No thanks."

Muran pulls a face at that and Martin falls back to take Nitram's place. "Alright, kid," he says, and gives the tagalong's ropes to Nitram. "Fold 'em."

Before Seto can even really do that, magic grips his wings and furls them tight. Martin grabs him before he loses momentum, then hauls him up onto the tagalong. He takes a simple rope and ties it around his ankle, then to one of the bars of the tagalong. He and Nitram switch back off. Seto sighs and leans against a box of food provision, glumly staring down at the water. "There's got to be a better way to travel," he mumbles, and is thankful the wind rips his words away before anyone else can hear them.

[...]

05-12-47328

He wakes up dizzy, blinking rapidly to find the world swaying around him. Something is pushed down over his face and he takes a staggering breath, lungs expanding. He looks up to find Martin staring down at him, worried. The wind is tearing by at too fast a speed to talk, but Seto waves him away, trying to convey he's alright. Still blinking the swirling spots from his eyes, he gives a slight giggle and leans up from his curled position he'd been sleeping in. The wind nearly snaps him away from the tagalong, if it weren't for the new ropes strapped loosely over him. He looks around to find that there's a few smatterings of islands down below. Nothing that they'd be able to land on safely, though; they're all jagged cliffs and rocky terrain. Mountains, he realizes. Left because they are useless to use as islands.

"They're so _tiny_," he says into the oxygen mask, laughing to himself, still trying to get over the ill-feeling still roiling in his stomach. It's then he realizes they're getting larger. And then the wind abruptly dies down. Not all the way, but it's not deafening and not as chilling.

Martin comes over again, passing a hand over Seto's head. "How you feelin', kid?"

"Uh." He blinks again then rubs his eyes, bumping the hard plastic of the mask. "What happened?"

"Flew too high. Thought you were old enough to take the lower oxygen levels, but you passed out a handful of dozen miles. We just now noticed."

"It means our trip will be longer," Muran calls back. "Without the use of jetstreams, it could add a month or more to our journey."

Martin hisses something under his breath. Seto pulls the mask off, looking over it. Martin quickly grabs it and snaps it back on. "You're keeping that on your face until we get lower."

"What is it?" he calls, voice muffled.

"A mask, idiot. From the east."

Well, that explains it. It makes the air taste strange, though. Filtered, somehow. Seto itches to take it back off. 

By the time they're swooping over the islands, looking for a place to land, Seto has managed to untie all the ropes on him, and he removes the mask to slip back into the sky with them all. He's still feeling groggy, but he's well enough to fly. Pakka stays beneath him, as if sensing that Seto still might not be feeling too well.

Eventually, they manage to slow to a crawl and alight on a plateau on a mountainside. There's still only ocean beyond them. Seto stands at the ledge for a long moment, staring out, then turns and asks, "Jetstreams? How the hell did we get that high up?"

Muran pauses and glances at him from where he's digging a firepit. "We flew?"

Seto squints at him, then rolls his eyes and starts pacing along the cliff's edge. He stares up at the sky - mostly cloudless, but those he sees are moving quickly. "How fast were we going?"

"Around 150 knots, I believe," Muran says absently, filling the pit with sticks that Nitram had scrounged from the brush nearby. 

Seto... has to sit down, after doing the calculations. He wavers slightly, then collapses on the ground, words failing him. Nearly _200_ mp/h? "Fuck, man," he says. Nitram laughs.

He pulls his flight goggles from around his neck and looks down at them. They're only a few days out. It's hard to imagine how long they'll be flying. He turns around halfway, squinting at the food Nitram is trying to cook. Martin lands nearby, having brought another armful of firewood. "We can travel in those," he says, pointing up. "If I can keep the mask."

At this, Muran looks up, then over at Martin. "Your call."

Martin squints at him, then at Seto. After a moment, he shakes his head. "We won't risk it. We'll get there eventually."

At this, there's a bit of the annoyance and dread mixed in his voice. Seto hefts a sigh and looks back toward the ocean. Really, he just wants to _get there_. He doesn't want to fly for months like this. He knows they're not even over the Atlantic yet, and once they are, there won't be any stopping and resting.

God damn, he shouldn't have let Nitram convince him.

[...]

05-23-47328

Against Martin's wishes, they do go up into the jetstream again. And they remain there for _days_. Clouds seem to be forming on the horizon, but nobody says anything about them, so Seto ignores them as well. Pakka seems to keep wanting to edge down, but whenever he looks for any sort of land, and nothing is there, he seems a bit more frantic. Seto has to calls out for him, then give a quick few comforting pats to his paw to calm him down. Martin periodically flies near him, scratching through his mane and scales.

But they do, eventually, descend out of the jetstream, as the higher winds seem to be sucking them toward the clouds at a faster rate.

The flight is quiet, except for the wailing of the wind as they ride it. Seto starts to think if he should shave his head, with all the whipping around his hair does. The twins can tie their hair back. Muran has his whole mask and visor on, so he's fine. But Seto's hair isn't grown out enough to tie back. Maybe he just needs to cut it. 

He wishes Ethan had come along. It's boring up here, and he misses his friend. Why did he think this was a good idea? He's left the one place he's known, and now has no way of reaching it until they return home. Even _if_ the east is nice, and even _if_ things are better there, he still would want to return home. That's the place he's known for all his life! How could he not go back?

"Hail storm!" The call echoes back louder than Seto thought possible, startling him from his reverie. He looks forward, hearts shuddering a beat at the swirling clouds ahead of them.

It's a wall of bruised purple and gray, towering up, even _above_ them. Angry, boiling clouds that swirl in an almost tornado-like fashion. 

The wind suddenly dies down for a moment and the tagalong rocks and twists. Seto hunkers down, holding tightly to it. He scans the ocean below - what he can see of it, at least. The waves are dark, pitching back and forth, white capping and curling. Fear settles in his stomach as he looks back toward the mass of clouds. Lightning zigzags throughout the main cluster, lighting up the dark clouds in spectacular bursts of electricity.

Even though they're out of the jetstream, and now moving northward instead of east, the wind is ripping at them. The tagalong bumps along and several times Seto thinks he might be pitched overboard. His eyes remain on the clouds, though, as a single word ricochets in his head, like the thunder drumming through the storm.

_Hurricane_.

Pakka keens, high and panicked. Martin swoops down onto his shoulders, wings half-furled, and pats the side of his neck. The dragon shakes his head side to side, not liking anything Martin must be saying.

"We need to land!" Seto screams, trying to get to his knees and disentangle the ropes on him. Nitram, who's pulling the tagalong, looks back at him, startled. 

"Stay down!" Martin shouts, leaping off of Pakka and winging back up to them. He pushes down on Seto's shoulders, almost harsh in the action. "You stay right fucking there, Seto."

"No, no! That's- That's-"

"A hurricane," Muran calls. "Landing will be worse. We'll try to fly around it, head north and skirt on the winds from it."

Something in Seto's head is still screaming, though, as he eyes the storm. The ascend back upward - and he starts to see the vast expanse of the swirling, angry mass of the hurricane. It's _huge_. Pakka sidles up alongside Nitram, still wailing wordlessly, probably trying to make them turn back around. Seto wants to leap out and comfort him, but Martin is still flying right above him.

The winds suddenly slam into them from the right, tossing everyone out of their pattern. The tagalong goes rolling until it jerks to a stop as Nitram grabs one of the wings. Seto grips tight to the ratchet straps, hearts beating painfully in his throat. He _needs_ to be flying, right now. He can't be stuck like this. The thought of the tagalong falling into the ocean and him, pinned to it, unable to escape to the surface, flashes into his mind. 

With the storm to their right, and empty oceans and churning clouds to their left, they fly on. Pakka bounces back and forth in the air; Martin stays close to him after checking on Seto, guiding the dragon by an antler. Muran seems the least affected, but glances back to make sure his extra tagalong is still there. 

Making sure nobody is looking, Seto quietly starts to untangle the ropes and straps across him and his wings. A hand comes and smacks him hard on the back of the head and he flinches away from Martin, glaring. The wind is getting stronger, now, and words aren't possible anymore. But Martin's own hard stare speaks volumes.

Another gust of howling wind snaps them apart like elastic, and the tagalong spins. Nitram shouts something and then there's a sickening lurch. Something zips by Seto's head and he ducks, breath coming in quick gasps. Looking up shows that one of the ropes has snapped; Nitram is only pulling it with two, now, instead of three. The main one is still attached, but for how much longer?

Another gust of wind brings Seto scrambling to get his ropes off. He _can't_ be attached to this if it snaps off. Without any sort of control- It would be a death sentence. But one of the ropes is tangled somewhere beneath the wing. He tugs, and tugs, but it won't come loose. Martin's name is ripped away by the wind when he calls. Wildly, Seto looks up, and around. 

The clouds had come onto them, roaring, and now he only sees the vague outlines of Nitram's wings and feet, with the ropes leading into the mist. They're being tossed back and forth, and then something heavy slams into the tagalong. Pakka scrambles at the wings, claws gouging rivets in the metal. Seto tries to call his name to calm him, but just as soon as he's reaching up to Pakka's nose, the wind rips them apart again. Martin and Muran are nowhere to be seen.

And then the winds grow worse, the tagalong oscillating wildly. Buffeted by the howling gale, Seto clenches his eyes shut and screams for- Anyone. Martin, Nitram, Pakka nad even Muran. But then the tagalong twists, and there's a shuddering _snap_ that reverberates through Seto's _bones_.

And then- A second snap.

And then he's alone, and the tagalong plummets, slewing around this way and that, tumbling with the roaring, churning clouds and winds. Hail pelts the metal of the wings and the boxes; Seto ducks under his own wings for shelter, still screaming.

And then- A break in the clouds. Seto looks up, dizzy with vertigo as he spins wildly down. The ropes snap back and forth around him, loose and flailing. He chances a glance down- Up, really- at the ocean, but it's obscured still by the clouds and rain and hail. Lightning flashes vibrantly to his right, and he sees the vague silhouette of an angel. Before he can call out, the light is gone, and all is dark and churning again.

Knowing he has to fly or fall to his death, he starts working on the ropes again. It's hard, with the tagalong twisting and flailing, uncontrolled, in the cyclone. And then all but one is off of him. The stuck, tangled rope. Seto tugs at it uselessly, trying to wiggle out from under it. With the boxes to both sides, though, he has no room. It burns painfully against his left shoulder, and down the middle of his back, as he's thrashed against it. 

Hearts beating frantically, he reaches _out_ and feels the wild, untamed magic swirling around him. The storm itself is alive with it, so vibrant and _living_ that Seto nearly blacks out from the sudden feeling of it. Clutching tight to the edge of the tagalong, he screws his eyes shut and _screams_.

A sudden burst of electricity is what snaps the rope, cascading around him wildly in blue sparks and embers. Two of the boxes go tumbling, as does he. And the next moment, the tagalong slams into his middle, knocking the breath from him. Scrambling with all limbs, he snaps his wings out, and snatches at one of the ropes as it whips past his head.

With the magic still sparking around him, pulsing like a heart having an attack, Seto ties the tagalong's rope around his middle, then beats frantically with the wind. He can _feel_ the currents with his magic, so wild that they have no pattern to them, but he tries his best to stay with them. There's roaring all around him, as if the heavens above have unleashed all their horrible grace in one long, high wailing siren. With heaven's fury around him and hell's jaws below, Seto battles in the cyclone, not even able to see. He travels by way of the wind, twisting back and forth. Relying on instincts and magic alone, he dodges lightning strikes and hail, somersaulting and hoping the tagalong will follow his violent path through the storm.

Thunder crashes around him, momentarily disrupting his focus, and he is suddenly snagged away by an unforgiving wind. Just as he's righting himself, another one comes, battering him head-on, and he's spinning chaotically again. Panicked tears blind him, and he knows if he doesn't get out of this, he will die.

The clouds obscure everything from sight, twisting and churning up, spiraling wildly. He hits _hard_ into what seems to be a wall of the clouds and feels the frost creeping over his limbs and wings. He heaves a sob, and heaves for air, and doesn't think he'll get out of this. Out of everything, he didn't ever think to believe the sky itself would turn against him like this, and kill him itself. Maybe it's just; the sky gave him freedom and flight, and it has every right to take that from him.

Just when everything grows too much, and he can barely move his wings without feeling as if they'll shatter, and just as his muscles scream and his hearts reach a crescendo-

It all _stops_.

He tumbles out of the clouds, gasping and crying, trying desperately to right himself. Despite all odds, the tagalong is still with him, gliding along now that the winds are dead. He looks up, and sees the sky, and the sun so high above, and thinks he must be dead.

And then something slams into him, stopping his flight, and he grips tightly to Martin's soaked flight jacket, wings nearly giving out. Someone cuts the line to the tagalong, and he's being ushered to Muran's. He lands heavily, still gagging for air. His wings fold haphazardly, loosely held by his sides, one slung over the remaining provisions, and one drooping low to the wing. Muran reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder- wordless comfort. He slips off from the tagalong, replaced by Martin. He doesn't bother to control it; it's slowly circling around inside the eye of the hurricane, keeping well clear of the cloud wall.

"Are you okay? Seto, Seto look at me. Hey, come on, it's okay. Look at me." Martin grabs his shoulder, then his neck, turning Seto to face him. He notices Nitram hovering nearby, worry written clear on his face "It's okay. You're okay. You made it out- By god, you made it out."

"I- Yeah, I did," he whispers, voice hoarse from the screaming he didn't know he'd been doing. He slumps down, leaning against Martin's side. Pakka comes over, snuffling at his hair as if to make sure he's actually there. He tiredly waves a hand and then is dead to the world.


	4. short change hero

[this ain't no place for a hero to call home](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjTTB6yII4o)

* * *

* * *

08-07-47328

Nitram notices the royal guard first. They sidle up alongside them as they start passing the outer islands, flying silently alongside and behind them. Seven, in total, forming a backward vee shape. He sighs, reminiscing on all the times he'd had to escape them to go out and see Shūrin, God, he hopes to see her soon. 

He glances over at Martin to find that he's also noticed them, and is flying with his head slightly higher. Pakka has as well, but doesn't seem bothered. A few times, he's tried to bat them out of the air, only for them to easily dodge. It had turned into a game, at first, with the dragon trying to chase all seven guards off while the guards struggled to stay in formation. Seto, however, hasn't noticed them; instead, he stares wide-eyed at the islands. Nitram knows he's itching to land, but at this point, they might as well just get home. They'd landed on the ground for a brief period of time to eat and rest their wings, and now there's no reason to stop. 

When Seto does notice them, he veers sharply toward Nitram, surprised. "Holy _shit_, they're quiet!"

Martin snorts and shakes his head, beating his wings a bit heavier to go to Muran and speak with him for a moment. Muran casts a glance at the guards, then shrugs. Of course, he would be used to them. After a few moments of conversation, they trade the tagalongs off to a few of the guards, who take them away. They're quickly replaced by new ones. Nitram finds himself edging away slightly, coming closer with Martin as he does the same. Naturally, they're wary. Nothing good comes from those guards, they've learned. Not from what Martin had told him when they'd first left the east.

Once they reach the more populated areas, a clamor starts up below. Looking down, they see many people, humans and angels alike, rush out of buildings and fields, whooping and hollering at the return of their King and princes. Martin groans quietly and shakes his head. Nitram understands; he longs to pick up the pace and be less of a spectacle, but they have to remain behind Muran. Higher ranks lead the speed of the flock. 

Seto exclaims when a particularly curious kid comes flapping up below them. The guards quickly chase the kid away, but that isn't what Seto rushes in to ask about.

"She was human!" he calls, excited. "_Human_! With wings!"

Nitram opens his mouth to explain, but Martin beats him to it. "Things are different over here, kid."

"But _how_? She didn't even look older than, like, six or something. How can those wings even _fit_? Like- Does she go through the surgery, or-?"

"We'll explain later," Nitram says, sensing the nervousness from the guards. They must be new; they don't seem to have any sort of training that includes escorting children, and despite it all, Seto _is_ still just a kid. 

It doesn't take too long to get to the palace island, though. Nitram had expected another couple of hours, but the islands must have been moved around for their return. It raises security questions, and he and Martin share a concerned glance. If Muran was out, then _who_ had the authority to move the islands? It's no easy deal; the islands here are chained to the ground, especially the palace. It would take a month to swivel it around to the western parts, if not longer than that.

"So, are you still with Ji Yoo?" Martin asks. Muran glances back, and his face eases just a bit from the harder lines he'd been carrying on the trip. "Yes, actually. Does that surprise you?"

Martin's glance says _Yes_ and Nitram quickly shakes his head. "No, not at all," he says in place of his twin, giving him a hard glare that Muran doesn't catch. "Is she helping with everything?"

"Yes, she's helping. With everything? You know that isn't tradition." He can _hear_ the frown in Muran's voice. He and Martin share another glance. If not Ji Yoo, then who-

"Can we land soon?" Seto asks, eyeing the great, symmetrical palace. It hasn't changed a bit. The pavilions and sloping roofs, the exuberant colors and details... Nitram's hearts beat painfully, for a moment.

"Soon," Martin says, but his words cut off in a startled choke as the great palace doors swing open. Nitram sees her too, as she hobbles out of the overly large and grand front doors. She has a walker, and a few aids to either side. Her hair is stark silver, wrapped tightly back in a bun, and her face is old, wrinkled and aged almost beyond recognition.

But she raises her face to the sky, and even from here he sees her sharp eyes, still glittering like they always had. 

Putting on a burst of speed, Nitram soars ahead of Muran, with Martin right on his heels. He cries out, "Mother!" and lands in front of her, stumbling slightly. She laughs and stoops down, her twenty feet in height making him feel like a child again, as she hugs them both tightly. 

"Oh, my sons," she says quietly, "Oh, I knew you would return."

[...]

"And an heir!" the old queen exclaims, waving at Seto with a liveliness Nitram almsot didn't expect from her. "Come here, young one, let me have a look at you!" 

Seto casts a panicked glance at Martin, then at Nitram, but cautiously edges toward Kaitah's chair. She grabs him by the shoulders - one hand large enough to nearly cover his entire abdomen - and turns him side to side. A puzzled frown falls on her face and Martin casts him a quick look. Nitram shrugs a shoulder, eyes still looking toward the entrance to the lounge room. Muran had left them some time ago, which was nothing to be surprised at, but even Nitram feels a disconnect to their old home. If _he's_ feeling it, Martin must be as well.

"You don't look much like them," Kaitah eventually decides. Seto opens his mouth for a moment, but she waves her hand. "No matter! Adoption is just fine, here, really. If you would believe it or not, I, myself, am adopted into this family, so I open my arms to you if Lazarus so decided to take you in. Oh! What a joyous day, there is so much to do."

At this, she turns to the twins. Nitram instinctively sits upright, like he'd been taught so long ago. He feels uncomfortable, and his palms are sweating for no reason. Martin fidgets in his chair, avoiding their mother's gaze. "Oh, we will have to relight the torches- And bring in a new one, as well! It is cause for a celebration! A feast!" She bangs her fists on the table, making it quake, and abruptly starts to hobble up out of her armchair. A few of her aids rush to her sides, two already carrying along the walker for her. 

"Oh, right," Martin says, hesitantly and unwilling, "The torches."

Seto looks over. "What torches?"

"Oh, the ones lit for the royal family," Kaitah continues on, already ushering for a few celebration planners. "It has been such hard times lately, this is a wonderful occasion to throw a feast! Bring the peoples' spirits up, and introduce you, and my sons, back into the royal line! Oh- Oh, Krymov, go and get the preparations done, and please get these young men some formal clothes- Hire some new tailors, please, or the old ones that they used to have."

Nitram pales at this, sitting back on his cushion on the floor. He glances at Martin, wide-eyed. He does _not_ want to be subjected to that again- Especially Isaka- God he could not _stand _her, always pinching them with pins and-

"Now, Mom, I doubt Muran would want us to throw an entire holiday. You need to remember to consult him first before making these decisions."

Martin stiffens next to him and Nitram stumbles to his feet, catching himself on the wall to his left. He stares, wild-eyed, over at the man in the wheelchair, breath caught in his throat. "Micah?"

"Hey, Kai, Lazzy. Come here-"

Nitram doesn't have to be told twice. He pitches himself forward, and lands hard on his knees before Micah. It's then he notices one leg is missing, and the other is weak and skinny from disuse. There is a tremble to his right hand as he puts it to the side of Nitram's head. Micah leans forward, his curving ram-like horns brittle and unpolished, and he puts his forehead to Nitram's. "Welcome home."

But when Nitram looks over at Martin, he's still sitting down, and his eyes are so wide, and he is so pale. Martin blinks once, twice, and then pushes his palms into his eyes. He sits like that for a long, long moment, and then, says, so quietly, "Home."


	5. the killing of a leviathan

02-02-46802

Lazarus presses tightly into the cramped space of the closet, breath even despite the sound of footsteps outside. He closes his eyes, willing the magic to work with him. The sound-canceling spell envelopes him, hushing the beating of his hearts and the clicking of the bombs in the satchel at his side. His wings twitch as if to rattle, but the spell prevents the metal from making any sort of noise. 

Breathe in; breathe out.

The footsteps pass and he waits another moment before cracking open the closet door, peering out into the hallway. The paper walls show that there are people across the way from him, bustling around, wings great shadows at their backs. He stares at one without the shape of horns, squinting, then nods to himself and quietly pulls open the satchel. The bomb is as heavy as the weight on his shoulders as he takes it out.

Kneeling, he twines his magic through it, setting the timer just a few moments shorter than the previous one he'd planted. His hearts pick up slightly as he settles it down amongst mops and buckets and cleaning products. Then, pressing back to the door, he peers out once more, slides it open, and hurries down the hallway. Voices down the hall- He shoves open a paper door, then closes it and ducks under the meeting table there. They pass a moment later. He has two more to plant, but he's running out of time. There are more people here than he thought.

The idea that it's not _just_ westerners here wriggles around at the back of his mind, but he shoves the thought aside. He'd been told explicitly that it was only the Generals and their group. But why, then, does it seem like there are more here than there should be? The official meeting isn't for another two hours- plenty of time to place the bombs, then escape, then watch the island crumble with all their enemies inside. It would be a horrible blow to the west, losing all their higher-ups in one trip. And with them so crippled, and a few well-placed words to Micah, they could easily overtake the west and be _done_ with all this horrible business.

Sure, an act of war it may be, but it's _justified_. Still, the lying and sneaking around he's done sits sour in his throat, leaving a horrible taste on his tongue.

Lazarus shakes his head and hurries from the room, practically running down the hallway to the next location for the next bomb. It's planted easily under the cafeteria - a simple place, but the structural damage would be too heavy to repair. The island is out above the ocean and a few barely-inhabited ground islands. The damage will be fine. Maybe a bit costly, but not too great to take many lives. 

It's a sacrifice Lazarus thinks he's willing to give, for the good of the country, and the good of his own life. Selfish, he thinks, whisking magic through the wires, setting the timer to only ten minutes instead of thirteen. But if that's selfish, then this isn't the worst thing he's done in his life. 

Not bothering to be as cautious as the last few times, Lazarus races to the last checkpoint. He skids around the corner, and-

And goes tumbling head over wings as he crashes into someone. The man beneath him splutters, scrambling back, then stops and sags. "THere you are! Where have you been, Laz?"

Fear shoots through him, icy-cold, as Lazarus raises his eyes to meet Kaizen. "What are you doing here?" he blurts out, scrambling to pull the satchel to his stomach. Kaizen frowns at him, glancing over his attire.

"Going to the war meeting. Didn't you hear? Micah sent someone out to tell you, so- What are you dressed in? Hell, Lazarus, I know you don't want to go, but-"

"Micah's here?" It comes out in a hoarse, horrified whisper. Lazarus stands shakily, dragging his brother up by the arm. "Where? Where is he?"

"In the main meeting room? Muran's running a bit late, but I was just about to go meet him."

Lazarus can't breathe, suddenly. The main conference room, right above where the strongest bomb is. Right above where _he'd_ planted it. "We have to go."

"Yeah, we do, we're going to be late. Attire doesn't matter, I guess, but _really_, you should've shown up in the right dress-" Kaizen is still talking when Lazarus grabs his elbow and pulls him down the hallway, away from where he'd planted everything. There has to be an exit, he thinks, but his mind is muddled with panic. His brothers are in here. _Kaizen_ is here, oh god and Micah.

"Where are we going-"

"We have to go!" he shrieks, and waves at people heading the way they came. "Bomb threat! Everyone get out, get out!"

They stop, startled, and then panic breaks out. He and Kaizen are suddenly in a small crowd, as everyone is screaming, as word spreads through thin walls. Kaizen keeps trying to ask him what's going on, keeps trying to pull him to a stop, but Lazarus won't let him. Not with the timers ticking, not with the island about to crumble. He knows he's leaving Micah behind, knows he's leaving so many he's grown up with behind, but all that matters is that _Kaizen_ is not stuck in there with him.

Lazarus tightens his grip and slips down a different hallway, pausing only momentarily to grab Kaizen's knife from his belt and slash the strap of the satchel. It drops to the floor with a thud, and then they're running again. There's a window at the very end, a colorful mosaic, and without a thought, he leaps and brings Kaizen out into the free air with him.

Lazarus unfolds his wings and trusts Kaizen to follow. He does, and together they wind up and away from the soon-to-be destruction of their life. And, just behind them, the explosions start. First one, on the very bottom of the island, then they race up and explode, and heat sears their backs, and the shockwave shoves them through the air.

Kaizen flips over, sailing backward through the air, staring at it with wide eyes. Lazarus stops to drop in front of him, battering him with his wings to get him moving again. "Go!" he screams, "Go!"

But the last bomb goes off, the worst of them all, and they're tumbling through the air from the wave of fire rushing over them. 

Lazarus lands hard on a nearby island, gasping for breath, back searing with pain. His wings croak as he staggers to his feet, looking left and right, to find Kaizen nearby, coughing and gasping. Lazarus turns around, watching, horrified, as the island's magic gives out, and it pitches toward the ground, collapsing to pieces on the way.

"Micah!" Kaizen shouts, leaping to his feet, but Lazarus is faster, and he snatches at his wrists before he can fling himself back toward the destruction. "No! No, Kaizen, we can't, we can't."

Tears burn Lazarus' eyes as Kaizen collapses to the ground. They both watch as it hits the ground and ocean, saltwater searing up into the sky, and curling back down. The island they're on rocks, swaying from the shockwaves of the bombs. "Micah's in there," Kaizen says, struggling to form the words, "We have to go help-"

"We can't, I- I can't." The pain is searing his heart, worse than the burns on his back and legs. His tail lashes against the grounds and he feels brittle, so weak. He doesn't know if he can keep Kaizen from flying away if he tries again. 

"Why not?" Kaizen hisses, turning on him and sees his face, and then his expression slackens. He stares for a long, long moment, reading Lazarus' eyes, and then shakes his head. "No. _No_. Tell me you didn't. Lazarus, _tell me you didn't_!"

His shriek is louder than the explosion, and Lazarus quickly puts one hand on the back of his head, and the other across his mouth. "I- I didn't think- I thought it'd be the western group here, I-"

"They didn't show! The letter came back just a few hours ago, they- They- We're at _war_, Lazarus, and you just- You just-!"

It's then Lazarus breaks, crying, and his hand falls to Kaizen's shoulder, then curls around his chest. He wails, rocking forward. "I didn't mean to! I didn't, I thought- I thought- I didn't know they were-"

Kaizen leans back, still trying to process everything. "Maybe- Maybe if we go back, right now, and explain-"

"They'll kill me!" Lazarus shouts, anger fueling his blood. "They'll execute me right where I stand, Kaizen, I-" He breaks off into a whisper, "I don't want to _die_, Kaizen, please."

His twin stares at him for a long, long time, as the sirens wail below, as there are calls of panic and grief. He glances once, over his shoulder, then back to Lazarus. Finally, he whispers, "I won't let them."

"You don't have the say."

"But- But I'm next in line for the Throne, and you're the next Judge- They _can't_-"

"I killed him!" Lazarus exclaims, waving a hand wildly toward the destruction and loss. "I killed Micah, and- Oh, god, Kai, I killed him. Muran- Muran won't let that slide, _nobody_ will, I have to- I have to go."

With this, he staggers to his feet, limping to the other side of the small island. It's not big enough for any buildings to be built; it was probably attached to the island that just- That just-

"And where will you go?" Kaizen calls after him, halting his steps. "Where? The west? The Ground? You'll be hiding for the rest of your life."

Lazarus glances down, surprised at the knife laying to his right. He bends down and picks it up, seeing the familiar sheen of Kaizen's magic coursing through it. He longs for his own amulet, knowing it'd bring comfort. But his mind is made up. He turns back around to Kaizen. "I'll go west. I'll carve my horns off and hide my tail and ears and- And I'll become a wingsmith. I'll- I'll pick a new name, one from over there, and- And you can go with me."

"Why would I?" Kaizen stands, now, wings rattling in rage. "Why would I go with you?"

Lazarus' voice breaks again when he says, "Because you're all I have left."

[...]

05-13-46802

"Just- get it over with."

Kaizen- Nitram- Says nothing, but still, he's hesitant. "I- I can't."

Laz- Martin hisses in through his teeth as he bends his head down, the bandages on either side of his head _burning_ him as they rub against the fresh wounds that used to be his ears. Despite everything, he hadn't been able to cut perfect curves, and he knows that once they're mostly healed, he'll have to clip them again. But this- this isn't just ears, this is his _tail_. "Just _do it_, Kaizen!" he snaps, tail lashing against Nitram's grip. It trembles as if it knows what's about to happen.

"I- Can't we just hide them? Shove them down a pants leg, and-"

"And risk getting caught? The ears are bad enough." So are the stumps where his horns used to be. _Those_ will have to be cut down every time they start to grow, and he dreads doing it again when the pain is still so fresh. He hears K- Nitram gulp, and the dagger presses down on the fine fur at the base of his tail.

He kneels on the floor of the shack they'd built, shirtless, with only his boxers on. Already humiliated, already close to tears, he reaches around and snags the dagger from K- Nitram's grip. Then, without pause, without thought, Martin twists as much as he can, and brings the sharp blade down. 

Pain lances up his spine and he _screams_, white scouring his vision. The bone hasn't been cut through, but there's a heavy gash, a few inches from where his tail starts and the knife clatters to the floor. "Just- Just go," he whines, "Do it, _now_."

Kaizen picks the knife up, and then there's more pain, and Lazarus- Martin- can't see, or hear, but he knows he's screaming, and he knows he's going to pass out.

But he doesn't; he still has to sever Kaizen's tail, and he can't be that weak, not when his brother is about to go through the same pain. The pain is still hot and burning when there is a dull _thud_ and empty space where the rest of his tail was.

It takes him almost an hour of reeling in that agony, before he stutters, "Ok- Okay, okay, turn around."

He thinks, later, that it was worse to hear Kaizen's screams than his own.

[...]

06-19-46802

Martin spends long hours toiling away, working on their island. It can't look artificial, no matter how easy that would have been. While Nitram coaxes the new sprouts of trees to grow, Martin builds up the rocky base of the land. The magic in him strains and burns at so much use, but it's better than feeling the searing of where his tail and ears and horns used to be. His flight is unbalanced and jittery, so used to having that extra weight, now gone. But he manages because Nitram is no better. 

Together, they put blood and tears into making their new island - their new life.

And, together, they suffer. 

[...]

They lose themselves in their work and forget what day it is, what year it is. When the island is done, and the scars have healed, the carve sigils into the bottom of the rock, and set a course for the western islands. 

"You know what we have to do, right?" Martin says, quietly, over their last bottle that they'd stolen from another drifting island. "The ports- we have to make the outside match the westerner's."

"We don't even know what they look like," Nitram protests, so so hoarse and hushed. "We've- We've been through enough, right?"

"We have to blend." The western language feels like cotton in his mouth, making his words stutter and tumble awkwardly. They have to be _used_ to this, though. They can't afford to get caught. Nitram is doing somewhat better, having started on learning the language earlier than Martin had. After all, a king has to know others' languages. A judge, however, does not.

"We need new wings, too. We can't just- We can't just go and ask for new pairs, while our ports don't match everyone else's."

Nitram bites his lip and snags the bottle from Martin, choking on the taste. He never was one to drink, but he's gone through most of the alcohol they had. This last bottle is no exception. He's had most of it, already, and Martin will let him have the rest of it if it makes even a slight difference in everything.

It won't, though. Martin knows better. Nitram does, as well, but that's where their similarities end. Nitram won't adapt as easily. Martin had prepared for the worst so, so long ago.

But watching his brother tip the bottle all the way upside-down, watching him try to get that last bit, that last drop-

That's probably the worst thing Martin's seen so far.

[...]

04-11-46804

"You said your names were-?"

"Martin. And my brother is Nitram." The names don't come naturally, their old ones still stuck like acid in his throat. He feels Nitram shift and he glances over. The pain in their backs is not as bad as it had been for their tails, and by now, they are so used to the self-mutilation that neither are as bothered as they thought they'd be. 

Nitram shares his look, then glances back toward the door. So deep in the west, so close to the heart of their enemies' territory, they're both on edge. Getting here had not been easy; hopping from island to island under the cover of nightfall, and then melting their old wings and ripping pieces of metal from their ports until nothing was left except for torn flesh and gleaming bone and a few stray wire tendrils. 

Martin shifts uncomfortably when the doctor- Baki, he thinks is his name- starts to say, "You're-"

There's something in the doctor's eyes, something speaking of suspicion and realization, so Martin cuts him off. "Twins, yes."

He reaches up to scratch at his temple, realizing there's still blue caked to it. Their horns had grown in faster than they'd thought; this is the third time they'd had to saw them off. 

"And you said your wingports were... mutilated?"

"It's why we came here in the first place. A passing angel decided he didn't like us." Not... _entirely_ far from the truth. They were drifters, technically, and Martin can't ever say he likes himself. Not ever again, not after what he's done. He shifts nervously, anxiously shouldering the bag. "We heard you do port surgeries. We- We have the ports, just can't... do it ourselves."

He pulls the wrapped ports from his bag, unfolding the soft cushioning to show Baki one of them. It's close enough to the west's ports, but he'd made them himself, looking off of a few references from the junkyards. He's _proud_ of those ports. He's made many before, using a different name, and never quite showing his face to his customers. But he'd been in the wingsmithing business for a while before- Before. 

Baki looks over the ports, then up at them. Martin meets Nitram's eyes. _This isn't going to work_, Nitram says, eyebrows lowering. 

_It will_, Martin promises. He looks back at Baki, eyes almost pleading with him. 

The doctor sighs. "Yeah. Let me see what I can do."

[...]

09-14-46808

The island is so quiet at night. They're still too wary to be close to the main huddle of islands, so they float theirs out of the way, darkened and silent except for the wildlife that comes to stay. Having established their wingsmith business, they have the money to buy supplies, and building materials, and food. And alcohol.

Down most of his own bottle, Nitram asks, "Was this the right thing to do?"

"They had to have known it was me," Martin answers, staring around the living room. A General had already paid for the furniture, all they had to do was finish building the damn house. Martin still remembers welding those black feathers, still remembers creating the metal, still remembers engraving the gold into it. He shakes his head and the thoughts dissipate. "I was the one that called the bomb threat. How would I have known? They'll figure it was me, and then..."

"Yeah," Nitram says, and drinks.

Martin stares down at his glass. He lifts it to his lips, but hesitates, then puts the glass down on the new coffee table. "Yeah," he echoes.

A while passes. Nitram's on his second bottle, and barely has the dexterity to lift it to his lips anymore, when Martin says, "We're all we have, Kai."

Nitram falls quiet. After a long, long moment, he takes a drink, then staggers to his feet, and says, "I'm going to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow we finally get to see what martin fuckin did. haha whoops it's bad.


	6. drawn by the promise of the joker and thief

[i don't want to sail with this ship of fools](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN5JjS54Bd8)

* * *

* * *

08-07-47328

Martin doesn't get up from the floor. He doesn't think he's capable. It's like the entire world just got pulled out from under his feet. All those _years_ living with that guilt- Living with what he'd _done_\- 

He'd never truly gotten past it. He'd been able to fill his mind with other things. The wingsmithing, the new people, their house, their island, their own little lives away from all this- All this _bullshit_ of heirs and kings and judges and regicide and organized terrorist groups working behind everyone's backs, even their own. The thought occurs to him that that group didn't just _dissolve_ when he left.

He feels so, so sick, and manages to choke out, "Micah, if we could have a moment alone."

Nitram is looking at him, so pale, and his hands are shaking even as he gets up and goes to Seto, talking with him quietly. Martin doesn't have an ear for their conversation; he stumbles to his feet and pushes past his once-dead brother, shoving into the hallway. He knows this house like the back of his hand, still, and trusts Micah to follow. 

But now that he's back here, he's noticed the changes. It all makes sense - the new table, one with the chairs and an empty space on one side. Instead of sitting on the floor cushions for the lower table, they've made accommodations. The hallways are wider, as are the corners. There are handles lower on the doors. He stops at one - the library if he remembers correctly - and shoves it open, stumbling into the room in a haze.

Guilt is _eating him alive_. He doesn't dare look back at Micah - who did follow, actually, if with an air of wary confusion. Now, it's a matter if Martin can place aside his own fears, can own up to what he's _done_, can apologize without lying by omission. Can he?

He finally turns around, watching Micah close the door using his left hand. The right hasn't stopped shaking. Micah is skinny, and he looks _weak_, so so different from the imposing figure Martin grew up with, so far from the older brother who taught him how to hold his tail when he flew, who raised him more than his own parents did, so far from the man who ruled the east without a waver in his grip or voice.

"Lazarus," Micah says quietly, and Martin thinks _This is it_. 

This is where all his secrets get upended, and it's not even his _decision_. He will live with this for only a small moment, and then he will die by guillotine, firing squad, or hanging. Any of them sound better than hearing Micah tell him his crimes.

"Where were you?"

But it's not that, and he cannot look Micah in the eye. "I was-" Deep breath, inhale, exhale, his hands are shaking and he feels so small, even with his brother crippled in a wheelchair, his eyes dull amber. "I was scared."

Micah thinks about that for a long moment and opens his mouth to speak, when Martin collapses to his knees, and crawls forward, hands resting on his remaining leg. "Forgive me, oh god, forgive me."

He knows- He _knows_ that Micah will say he will, will always say that he will, even if he doesn't know why Martin is begging forgiveness. So when Micah says _exactly_ what Martin expects to hear, he shakes his head, shoulders hunching, a dry sob heaving his chest. "No, no, no- I-"

A hand settles on the side of his head, tracing over the jagged edge of his ear. "What is it, Lazarus? It's alright. You're home. There's nothing to f-"

"It was Les Anges Déchus," Martin gasps, cutting him off. Something heavy in is in his chest, but it's not for the right reason, it's not going to be lifting, it's not- "They did it."

"The what? Did what?"

"The island. I had... Uncovered their plan. Came there, to try and get people out. Get you, and... And Kaizen, and everybody out." He talks slowly, the lie coming so, _so_ easily from his tongue, and he _hates_ himself. Martin takes a steadying breath. "They set bombs on the island, to kill-" The original plan was to kill the Generals of the West. But he'd learned, he'd _learned_ his lesson, he had known the instant they'd given him the mission to plant those bombs, that he was signing more death sentences than just twelve. "To kill the royal family."

Micah is very, very still. Martin doesn't dare lift his eyes, lest his brother realizes he's lying. "I fled with N- Kaizen. They knew of me, knew I'd found out their plan, so we had to flee."

_Please_, he begs silently, _Don't question why we didn't stay._

"I..." Micah's hand trembles against the side of his head. It stills, for just one moment, and he says, "I have to speak to Muran."

Then he pulls his chair back abruptly, nearly making Martin fall to the ground. Magic yanks the door nearly out of its track, and then Micah is gone. Martin takes a deep breath, still kneeling on the ground.

He lets it out as a sigh of relief. 

[...]

"What did you say?" Nitram hisses, pulling Martin along by the arm. "We're going on _lockdown_, Martin what the _hell_ did you say?"

"I'll explain later," Martin whispers back, and with his eyes says _Don't tell them a single thing._

Nitram glares at him then huff and looks behind them, where Seto is hurrying along after. 

"We just _got_ here," Seto complains, "And now we have to, what? Go in a fucking _lockdown_? There's not even a threat."

There is, and he's walking right in front of the kid. Martin shoves the thought away and pauses to push Seto in front of them. "Not right now, kiddo, just shut up and keep going."

Kaitah, also, has some things to say. They hear her down the hall, hobbling to her own room. "But my sons have just arrived! Why must we go in hiding _now_, we are stronger than ever! There is a feast to plan, and-"

"This way," their guard says, pulling open a door. The guard posted at it salutes, eyes hidden by his helmet. A sleek pair of black wings cover the multiple guns on his person, but the ornamental sword at his side gleams, freshly polished. Martin ushers Seto ahead and stops. "I want guards posted constantly, three for each rotation," he says and gets an affirmative and another salute.

Another thought occurs to him. "And if anyone sees Pakka, tell him that all is well, and he should go to find Aelaya and Alexandria."

He shuts the door behind him, blocking out the rest of the noise. He glances around the room, taking in the lavish decorations. There's a sitting area near a fireplace to the left, with three small beds on the right. A desk, bookcases, and no windows. 

"Alright," Nitram says, turning on him, trusting the soundproofing sigils to do their work. "What's going on."

"I told Micah of the Les Anges Déchus," Martin answers curtly. "Can't believe I didn't _think_-"

"You _what_?"

"Not of me! But of them," Martin says, backtracking. "I- I didn't tell him."

"Tell him what?" Seto asks innocently, glancing between the two. Or maybe, not so innocent, because there's something in his eyes that tell that he knows a bit more than he should. 

"So you told Micah..." Nitram's face folds into fury for a moment. "You _lied_?"

"What did you want me to do!" Martin throws his hands out, and Nitram flinches back. "What, go and hand my own head to him? You know if I told him _everything,_ then I'd-"

"I know!" Nitram goes to pace, reaching back to untie his hair and comb through it with his fingers. He rounds on Martin after a moment. "We can keep this up, right? Do you know if there's anyone on the inside? Anyone that could say anything?"

Martin's thoughts blank out for a moment. Then he rubs his eyes. "They'll have changed by now. I-" Struggling to remember, he shakes his head. "Everything was pretty hush-hush, you know? And, well, I just- I wasn't all that high up in the ranks, and-"

Nitram mutters a curse under his breath and sits down heavily on one of the armchairs. The fireplace blazes to life a moment later, him not even moving to use the magic. Seto looks between the two of them, then asks, "So... Are we, like, in danger?"

Martin doesn't answer him. He goes to the desk, and sits down, and snaps at one of the candles. It lights quietly and he pulls one of the drawers open, hoping to find something to keep his mind occupied. Thankfully, there are a couple of ink bottles and brushes and loose papers. "For now, kid, we wait. We'll be safe here, even if there is a threat."

Seto huffs and flops down on one of the beds. "Fine," he says, "I'm taking a nap. Wake me up if something happens."

Knowing - hoping - nothing will happen, Martin sets to scribbling down the sigils he remembers. He'd packed away the books Aza had given him, but none of their luggage had come to this room yet. It probably won't until the lockdown is over. He leans his chin on one hand, scribbling almost mindlessly. Strength, warding, accelerated healing, protection from dark arts, and- his new favorite - the sigil for a silver tongue.

Thinking for a moment, Martin sets his pen down and glances over at Nitram. He'd pulled out a book and didn't seem to be paying any attention; Seto snores loudly for a moment and turns over in the bed. 

Curious, Martin quietly rolls his sleeve up and dips the brush back into its pot and pulls it to his wrist. He glances at the paper drawing of the sigil, then swirls it along his arm. The ink flashes brightly and he hunches over it, dropping the brush. 

"The hell was that?" Nitram asks, looking up over at him.

"Just trying out a subtle form of fire magic," Martin says, without even thinking about it. He blinks. "Guess it needs some work."

Nitram snorts and returns to his book. Martin looks at him for a moment, then back down at the sigil. So it _does_ work. Huh. He glances over it one last time, committing the shapes to memory, then gently rolls his sleeve back down and starts cleaning the ink from the desk and floor. 

[...]

It's several hours before there's a knock at the door. Martin startles in his chair, blinking to wake himself. He glances over and calls, "Come in."

A few quiet murmurs outside, then the door slides open and an angel pushes a trolly in. Silver domes and the smell of food wafts over. Seto shoots up from the bed, eyes lighting up. "Oh thank fucking god, I'm starving."

The servant blinks at him then starts pulling the lids off, almost reverent in the motion. Nitram sighs and heaves himself onto his feet, looking just as tired as Martin feels. Seto reaches for the first thing he lays his eyes on, but the servant raises her hand, stopping him with a hard look. She deftly picks up the chopsticks and starts picking a very small piece off of each of the platters. After eating from all of them, she folds the chopsticks and then bows for a long moment. Then, standing up, she gives them a nod and exits the room.

Seto frowns after her, then huffs and snatches one of the patterned plates out from the second layer. He snatches up one of the pairs of chopsticks and, as he fills his plate with food, says, "The hell was that about? Comes in, fucking shows off all the food, then-"

"She's showing it's not poisoned, Seto," Nitram says patiently, picking up his own plate. "It was checked before it got to the room, but it's one last chance."

Seto pauses in piling the food. He pales slightly, then looks over at them, startled. "Wait, so if it was poisoned, then she'd-"

"Yes, kid," Martin interrupts, realizing how strange it is, even though he'd grown up with it, and hadn't thought much about the act until now. "But we're royalty. Get used to it."

Seto mutters something under his breath, but Martin pays him no mind. He goes to sit back down at the desk, flipping over a few papers and looking at the sigils as he eats using the other hand. He sighs and leans back in his chair to pull the drawer out again. The looseleaf papers flutter, flipping rapidly over themselves. When they stop, Martin watches as ink loops into the paper, drawn in a cursive, neat hand.

_Meet me under western pavilion tonight._

_There are things that need to be discussed._

_\- Aza_

"Shit," Martin mutters, reaching to ball the paper up when the ink abruptly fades away. Sighing, he shuts the drawer and stands, stretching up and groaning at the several pops in his back. Rattling his wings to freshen them up from sitting so still, he turns to the bed. Pops echo around the room as he pops his wings out and hangs them on the hooks from the ceiling. "I'm going to bed," he announces, going back to the desk to grab his plates and put them on the trolley. "If anyone wakes me up, there will be hell to pay."

Seto grunts and Nitram doesn't say anything. Martin falls down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and struggling under the blankets. He sighs and closes his eyes. And tries not to think about islands crumbling and dead brothers that are alive.

[...]

"This better be good. It was hard as shit to get out of there."

Aza hums, not even looking up from the plant he's sketching out. He leans forward and tilts the flower slightly. Martin glares at him, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. "We don't have a lot of time. Someone's bound to realize I'm missing."

"No, we do," Aza says, and points around with his pen. "There's no breeze."

"The hell does that even mean?"

At this, Aza sighs, muttering something along the lines of, "After all that training..."

Martin glances around, frowning. Aza is right; there isn't any sort of wind. And then Martin notices there's not even the sound of the nighttime bugs or animals. Nothing hooting or clicking, _nothing_. The silence unnerves him, now that he knows it's there. Shifting on his feet, he looks back at Aza. He lifts one of the large, fan-like leaves from the base of the plant, curling it gently, but in an unnatural position. It stays, instead of falling back down. "What's going on?"

"You won't be able to ever do it, don't worry. I won't teach you something you can't do, but I _will_ teach you about noticing the magics and things that happen around you. Tell me, Martin, what do _you_ think is happening?"

Martin groans and starts pacing. His footsteps are loud on the wooden floor, echoing around the empty space and out into the gardens. The pavilion above him his dark, shading the two of them from the moon and stars. Aza is sitting near the edge, where a garden grows next to a running stream. Martin pauses and stares at the stream. The water isn't moving. "Is... Is time-?"

"Bingo." Aza flicks the pen in the air, and says, "As I said, you won't ever be powerful enough to do it. But I haven't recorded this species yet- And like you said, someone would have been bound to notice if you'd just up and gone away in the middle of the night." 

Shivering, Martin takes a few steps away from the man. It's just _unnatural_. Aza, himself, has always felt _off_, but Martin's been able to shove the instinctual feeling away. Sometimes, like now, he just isn't able to. "So what did you want to talk about?" Trying to change the subject, Martin looks around, keeping his mind off the dead silence of the space around them. 

"Well, for one, we'll be training here, every night, for the next... while. Now's the time to commit _everything_ to memory, Martin. Just because you're back here doesn't mean you can't still practice." Aza pauses, then sighs and says, "And for two, I can assure you that nothing will happen with the Les Anges Déchus."

Martin spins around. "How did you... Never mind. How do you know?"

"I just do. Your biggest problem is- Hm." Aza pauses to flip to another page. "No, no, I can't tell you that just yet. Anyway, they won't be bothering you, they broke up a while ago, actually."

"You're kidding me."

"Not at all." Aza pauses to add something to his sketches. A breeze flows by and the plant blooms to life, glowing radiantly in the night. The breeze abruptly stops, and the cries of the crickets choke out. Aza reaches up with a knife and snips one of the flowers off its stem. "But if you don't play your cards right, they'll come right back once they hear of your return."

"There's no avoiding that, though. What do I even do?"

"I can't tell you everything. But just... be careful." Aza finally finishes the page with a decisive scratch of his pencil. Standing, he snaps the book closed and turns around to face Martin, looking up at him with a glare. "And don't do anything stupid. Stop it with that sigil, too." He jabs a finger to Martin's arm. poking him. "It's not time to reveal that magic yet."

"It's not like I'm planning on getting caught with it."

"Still. Be careful." Aza pulls open his bag and slides the notebook into it, letting the flap fall shut. "And by now, don't interfere with Seto remembering. If it happens, it happens, and there's nothing you or I can or will do about it."

"Wait, why-" Martin tries to ask, but then Aza's gone. The crickets scream and the breeze gusts through the open archways of the pavilion. Martin looks around hopelessly, then sighs and starts heading toward the palace. When he turns around, he freezes as he sees Micah heading down the path. His brother stops at the steps to the pavilion and stares up at him.

"Was there someone here?" Micah asks, looking around suspiciously. His glare sharpens as it lands on Martin. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question. I'm just getting some fresh air."

Micah snorts and wheels to the left, where a ramp extends down to the pathway. Pushing himself up into the pavilion, he says, "And you'd think you would have gotten tired of the fresh air, flying here from so far away."

"I'm guessing Muran told you about the hurricane?" Martin asks, joining Micah at the edge of the pavilion. He sits down on the ledge with a thump, garnering a short glare at the _unprincely_ behavior.

"No, actually," Micah says slowly, "You just did."

"Oh. Huh." Martin runs his hand over a horn, remembering that it needs to be polished soon. The outside of it is flaking, and the bases are starting to itch. He hasn't let them grow out this long in... a while. "Poor Seto nearly didn't make it through it. Pakka was no better, but he was smart enough to fly with the wind."

"Right. Pakka." Micah is silent for a while. Then he turns to look down at him. "Where did you find him, Lazarus?"

Martin is silent for a moment, then shrugs. "Nathaniel had him."

Micah growls quietly. "Damn that General. A coward, if I ever saw one. It's good you took him out. How in the world did you do it? Our insiders tell us you didn't even use all your magic."

"A sigil," Martin answers, briefly thinking back to the flames and pain. He shakes his head quickly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"And I won't ask you to. It's enough knowing it wasn't pretty."

They fall into an awkward silence. Martin slowly kicks his foot against the stone base, staring down at the garden growing along the side. The stream winds all the way around the pavilion, to end in a pond to their right. Thinking, he glances back up at Micah to find him staring up at the sky. He can't easily just tell Micah that Les Anges Déchus are broken up. If they even are; he'd have to trust Aza's word, but he's finding that difficult to do.

He looks back to Micah, then up at the sky. "Do you miss it?" he asks quietly, guilt churning in his stomach. He thinks he might be sick.

"More than anything." Micah's eyes don't stray from the sky. He doesn't have to ask what 'it' is. 

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

"You got Kaizen out. That's what matters."

Martin doesn't tell him that if he hadn't planted the bombs, nothing would've even happened. He and Nitram wouldn't have fled, Micah would still be well and fine and King, and- And everything would be different.

After another long silence, Micah sighs and backs up to go around Martin. "Get inside soon, Lazarus. We're still on lockdown, you know."

"Nothing will happen."

At this, Micah tries to pause, but he's halfway down the ramp. Rolling down the rest of the way, he brakes and swings around. "How do you know?"

Martin shrugs. "It was their last big hit. I don't think they're around anymore."

Micah stares at him for a long, long moment, then nods slowly. "We'll take that into consideration."

There isn't a good night, or goodbye, or anything. Micah turns and heads back inside, with Martin watching him go. But when he's halfway down the path, Martin jumps down from the edge and hurries to him. "Wait, wait-"

Micah spins back around, raising an eyebrow at him. "What, Martin?"

He pauses, and suddenly he's only a few decades old again, having recently stated he wants nothing to do with being a Judge, nothing to do with this family, and that look in Micah's eyes tells of something more, something nearly disappointed. "... There's gotta be a way to help you, right? Like- Prosthetics, or-"

"I've been through that already." And Micah turns back around, with Martin following him at a jog. "But, no, I mean, this can't be _it_ for you, Micah, there's gotta be something more that can help. _Anything_."

"I don't see why it matters to you so much." Micah gives a particularly hard shove to the wheels, cresting the hill and coasting down the other side. Martin picks up the pace again and runs ahead of him, going into his path. "Of course it matters to me! Why would you say that? I can't- I can't stand to see you- To see you like this."

Micah is silent for a long, long moment, then leans forward in his chair. Martin knows his brother was never one to show much emotion, but now a grimace creeps up Micah's face, his sharp teeth gleaming in the glow of the plants and lanterns. "If you cared, Lazarus, you would have been here. You did as much as you can, getting your twin out in time, but why the absence? Why were you _running_?"

The sigil he'd written on his wrist itches. "I didn't know what else to do," he says evenly, whispering the lie so that it doesn't choke him. "I was afraid that they'd come after me, and-"

"You can't _lie_ to me, Lazarus," Micah spits. "I realized the moment you saw me that there's something wrong. Something happened, didn't it? You're not telling the whole truth, Lazarus."

Pinned under that glare, Martin slowly backs up, shaken to his bones. "I-"

"And I don't want to hear it." Micah leans back, still giving him some pointed look as if he was searching with his eyes for the truth, written in Martin's face or movements. But he calms a moment later, and closes his eyes with a sigh. "I'm... really glad you're back. And this is the first time I'd seen Muran or Mom happy since you left. Say what you want, Lazarus, and I'll believe you. I don't want to ruin their lives all over again for some mistake you might have made... Goodnight, Lazarus, get some sleep."

Without another word, Micah wheels around him, and heads off down to one of the doors to the palace. Martin watches him go, then glances hopelessly around. Guilt sears his limbs and he stumbles a few feet. Then, refusing to cross his arms for comfort, he heads back to his room, fear and regret coiling like snakes in his chest.


	7. scar tissue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, i did a chapter (mostly) from Pakka's point of view. i love the little guy. love him to death honestly.  
i was tryig to finish a drawing of him when he's all grown up, to put at the beginning of the chapter for you guys to see, but it's taken me weeks and im not even done yet (mostly just procrastination, but still.) so this chapter has been sitting here for about a week before i finally decided to say fuck it and post it.  
enjoy~

Small-thing is sleeping in the soft cushions; the lookalikes are out already. Pakka wriggles through the paper door, ignoring the splintering sound of wood. He winds his way through the room, carefully picking over the various belongings strewn about. He pauses at the couch, where there are a few bottles on the floor and the glass table. Turning his head sideways, he picks one of the fuller ones up, then waddles over to small-things soft nest. Then, turning his head the other way, Pakka pours the bottle onto Small-thing.

He wakes up spluttering, coughing and immediately wiping his eyes. "Fuck! What the hell! What- Pakka?"

Pakka bobs his head up and down, imitating the expression his new family uses a lot. "Small-thing! No sleep time!"

"How did you get in here- Where did you get that?" Small-thing snatches the bottle from Pakka's teeth, turning it over and frowning at the label. "Shit... Nitram's gonna kill me."

"Kill?" A thrill of worry shoots through Pakka, but confusion also. Why would Not-Papa kill Small-thing? It doesn't make sense. Not-Papa is nice but a bit withdrawn. "No sense, Small-thing, why kill?"

"It's, uh, an expression, Pakka. Like... He's not literally going to kill me, but more of a... figuratively thing? I think this was his favorite brand, and you know how he is about his alcohol." Half of Small-thing's words make no sense, either. So Pakka carefully files that away in his memory for later. Small-thing rarely makes any sense, and Pakka has learned to not completely listen to him. Papa is only one who makes sense, really, and even then Pakka thinks that sometimes he doesn't.

"Hungry hungry? Papa not here."

"Yeah, I'll get you some food." Small-thing climbs out of bed, using his sleeve to wipe the rest of the foul-smelling not-water from his face. "Just, uh, let me get dried off real quick."

This starts a very fun game, where Pakka chases Small-thing around, puffing smoke at him to help dry him off. The game ends when they make too much loudness and a few unfamiliar people come rushing to the room, shouting. Pakka abruptly twines himself around Small-thing, growling _protection_ out at them, teeth bared. They stumble to a halt, their wings and weapons still raised. Pakka doesn't stand down until Small-thing squirms out of his coils and talks to the newcomers placatingly. Hesitantly, they all give deep bows - which surprise both Pakka and Small-thing, then disperse. All except for one, who asks something in a curious tone. 

Small-thing answers and waves her away. Pakka snorts and shakes himself, rattling his scales and fluffing out his fur. "Small-thing hungry?"

"Yeah, let me get dressed." Pakka watches him, which earns him a look, with Small-thing turning red. After a moment, Small-thing says, "Pakka, I'm trying to get dressed. A little privacy?"

"What that?"

Small-thing heaves a sigh, then grumbles something under his breath and starts peeling off his outer skins. Pakka watches with interest. So strange, how they use other skins to cover their own. Strange, strange.

When Small-thing finally is done getting 'dressed', he heads out through the door with Pakka right on his heels. "How did you even, like, get in here in the first place? Did anyone see you?"

Pakka things about the old-tall-lady and how she'd patted his nose saying something about fledglings, then shrugged his wings. Small-thing shakes his head. A few more new-people warily go down the hall pass them, pressing to the walls to keep from touching Pakka. All of them bow to both he and Small-thing before passing by. When they finally wind their way through hallways, they come to one of the main living areas. Pakka perks up when he sees Tall-lady and bumbles over to her, butting her with his head in greeting. She laughs and scratches over his good ear, earning a rumbling purr. Missing-leg looks at him for a moment then asks Small-thing, "How did he get in here?"

"Beats me. We got anything to eat?"

Missing-leg frowns then gestures toward the entrance behind him. "The dining area is that way. You missed breakfast, but I'm sure the cooks will make something for you if you ask. And- I'm sorry, but what's his name? Can he-"

"I'm Pakka! You, you look like Papa, but not, you missing-leg?" Small-thing hits him in the arm and Pakka turns to bare his teeth, but really means nothing by it. Missing-leg says something that Pakka misses, but when he turns his good ear back he hears the rest of, "-kka can go to Aelaya, to get something to eat. She won't mind, and I'm sure she would like to see you." This, he directs at Pakka if a little curtly. 

Pakka snorts smoke at him and shakes his wings out. He's missing things, too! It is not so bad, though; he can still see and hear from his left side, and he can still fly, even with most of his wing missing. "Is nothing bad, missing things," he says, trying to make his tone sharp and short, then turns to Small-thing. "No fun, here, why come?"

"I'm not sure," Small-thing mutters, then tugs on the fur at Pakka's elbow so he will bend down. He whispers, "Try not to mention that to him, though, not everyone's like you."

Pakka snorts again and ruffles his mane, then promptly heads into the entrance Missing-leg had gestured to earlier. He hears Tall-lady say, "The youth these days have no respect, Micah. Makes you wonder what they're teaching them now. Ad I swear, the young one there smells like alcohol."

Ignoring the rest of their conversation, Pakka nudges Small-thing along and then expectantly starts sniffing at the dining table. Someone comes out and talks with Small-thing, then rushes back through a small door to the side. While they wait, they play another fun game, but this time Small-thing tosses small silver sticks for him to catch in the air. He is floating near the ceiling when a few people start wheeling in good-smelling food. Pakka drops down and stares as they start plating the table. Small-thing stares, as well, paling slightly. "Thank god you're here, Pakka, I only wanted, like, eggs."

He does, in fact, get the eggs. Several plates, all cooked different ways. Small-thing gets through about two and a half plates, then tosses his napkin up on the table. Pakka, snuffling at all that was laid out for him, promptly nudges the napkin away and gobbles up the rest of the food from Small-thing's plate. He goes to the trolleys, as well, making the few servants nearby take a few rushed steps backward as they bow. He licks clean the silver platters, then starts sniffing around the table for more. 

"God," Small-thing groans, "Why did I eat that much?"

"Hungry hungry," Pakka supplies, then goes over to him and nudges him until he climbs up onto Pakka's shoulders. "Go now? Find Papa?"

"Yeah, let's go find Martin. I bet he's out with Nitram, but... God knows where either of them would be."

God knows, indeed. Pakka has no idea who God is, but they sound dumb, and stupid, so he doesn't care much for them. They float around for a bit, both enjoying the view. It is a nice place, Pakka decides. Pretty. The people, maybe not so much, but that can be overlooked. He doesn't have to interact with them if he does not want to. After watching the islands float by, with their many buildings and many people, Small-thing pats the side of his head. "Alright, let's find them." 

Pakka turns back for the big building and lands at the front doors, sniffing. He picks up Papa's faint scent trail after a bit. Then, turning in circles, starts heading off in one direction. The wind doesn't carry it very well, so Pakka has to loop back around several times. But when he finally does find the island that they might be on, he stops abruptly in the air, floating like a cork on the breeze. "Big-one," he rumbles, low and scared, spine arching and tail lashing unhappily. Small-thing slowly crawls up his neck, peering over the edge of his head.

"What do you mean?"

"Me, but not."

Small-thing sucks in a breath. "Another dragon?"

"Yes. Me, but not." Pakka starts circling the island, eyeing the tall cliff faces and luscious forests and hills and lakes. And he spots her, at one of the lakes, head bent and talking with a few people. Papa is there, along with Not-Papa, and then another that is like missing-leg but not missing any legs.

"Well, Martin's there, so she can't be bad." Small-thing pets the side of his neck. "Maybe it's Aelaya? We can go see. Micah said you should talk with her, anyway, so..."

Small-thing trails off as the dragon lifts her head and looks up at them. It gathers the attention of the other three, and Pakka sees Papa gesture him down. "Well, no choice now. C'mon, Pakka, it'll be fine."

A low growl rumbling in his chest, Pakka slowly sets down at the edge of the trees. He can see Aelaya's eyes from here, bright and expectant. Shifting uneasily, he waits for Small-thing to slide off his back, and then lets the angel lead them forward.

"Pakka, there you are," Papa says, coming to meet them halfway. "We were looking for you."

"He got into the room," Small-thing says, even as Pakka lags behind because they're getting closer to the new dragon. "Like, the bedroom."

"How in the world- You know what? We'll talk about that later. For now, Pakka, I would like you to meet... Aelaya."

Papas spreads his hands out as they finally reach an accepted talking distance. Pakka halts, craning his head up to look at Aelaya. She's almost regal-looking, with shimmering green-black scales and golden fur similar to his own. A large, oil-spill looking pearl is settled in the crook of her elbow. Silver and sapphire decorate her sprawling antlers, and there are delicate piercings in her ears and rings on each of her five fingers.

He shuffles from foot to foot, then hurriedly turns his head down to like at his belly plates, to maybe bring out a more copper shine to them.

"And Aelaya, this is Pakka," Papa finishes, standing back, almost expectantly. Pakka looks at him, then over at her. She bends her head down, her entire body shifting to hold the weight of the change.

"Pakka," she says, her voice a low rumble. "It is wonderful to finally meet you."

Pakka, startled, rears back for a moment, whiskers twitching awkwardly. "Yes," he says slowly, trying to reach for the biggest words in his vocabulary. "It is... very good."

She chuckles slightly, her whiskers reaching forward. They brush his and-

Images of three eggs, among a nest of soft feathers and supple, melted gold. A group of angels, fire and wings flashing, and the _pain_ of the eggs taken away, two cracked, and the third gone-

And just like that, it's over, leaving Pakka standing, shivering in his scales. Aelaya bumps her nose against his, crooning. "I cannot express," she says, "How lovely it is to see you again, my son."

[...]

"But if hungry, just take?"

"Why, of course, Pakka. This whole island-" She sweeps a wing around, her gaze drifting over the lush hills and forests. "-is for us. Alexandria is not here, as of right now, and my brother is gone on a trip."

"He back soon?" Pakka tilts his head, eyeing the lake beneath them. They're lounging on a clifftop, tails dangling into the crystal water. He swishes the end of it, making the water ripple outward. The gold fur at the end sprawls out beneath the water, flowing like silk. 

"Ah, no, not exactly. The rest of our kind are away, and they have been for a long time. He will be back, but not soon."

"When?"

"Another few centuries, I believe, but I am not sure." Aelaya shifts onto her side to regard him for a moment. "It's to my understanding that Lazarus taught you to speak?"

Pakka blinks at her, trying to put most of the words together, and then he hesitantly nods.

She gives him a long look, then sighs. "I see he does not have enough time for you."

Pakka bristles immediately, scrambling to his feet. "No!" he barks, surprising her with his ferocity. "Papa always have time, never not love me. He _save_ me. He good! You not see."

Tail lashing, he starts backing up, and suddenly his claws are scraping the dirt. Aelaya sits up, alarmed, and quickly, gently, says, "Okay, Pakka, I believe you. I do. I don't know what kind of monster could..."

She trails off and Pakka drops to the ground with a slight _thud_. "Papa good. Not have all time with me, but good. Not doubt."

Aelaya shifts slightly, and Pakka can tell that she is thinking. She rolls her pearl between her paws. Pakka watches the reflections shining off it, greed rumbling in his belly. After a long silence, she bends her neck around to study him. "Where is your pearl, Pakka?"

"Pearl?" he echoes, still staring at the shimmering orb. He meets her eyes and gives his wings a shrug. "No pearl."

Aelaya rears back, whiskers flattening. "Really! You haven't made one?"

Shaking his head, he coils himself into a more comfortable position, letting the end of his tail fall back over the edge of the cliff to swish in the water. "No."

"Well, that must change. It is through no fault of your own, dear, angels and humans do not know how to make them. Well, they cannot, in fact, but they do not know how _we_ make them..." She trails off and looks toward the lake, watching as the sunset finally settles in and turns the water pink and red. "Well," she says after a moment, "Let me teach you."

It is something, really, to watch her split her bottom jaw and _swallow_ the pearl. Pakka's eye widens, his head tilting nearly upside-down, watching the shape of it travel down her throat. She gives a slight cough, covering her mouth with one paw, and then says, in a voice slightly higher, "It settles near your heart, dear. It is there your pearl is. A dragon makes the pearl from memories, you see. The first one you make, the very base layer, will be your name. And after that, you will make a new layer, for any memory you choose to put. Good or bad- A pearl is a dragon's heart and soul. Do you understand?"

He nods, cautiously, unsettled. Good or _bad_? Does he have to put all those bad memories in? He has so few good ones, but...

Aelaya coughs again, turning her head away. Pakka politely looks the other direction. After a few minutes of hearing her coughing, she says, "There. See?"

He looks back again and the pearl is a shiny pink, glittering wetly. Wrinkling his nose, Pakka stands, and then sits back down, whiskers waving. "Gross," he states, slightly disgusted.

"No, not at all. See, I've put the new memory of meeting you here. It's color, you see, is very important." She cradles the pearl, bringing it around to show him. He looks at it for a long moment, watching his reflection in it. "We are creatures of memories," she says quietly, "It is our magic, you see. Angels and humans cannot understand how important they are to us. We live and thrive off of them. From the most simple memories, to the ones that stick with us forever. They create us."

Papa would say something along the lines of it being 'philosophical bullshit'. (Philosophical being Pakka's largest word he knows.) He snorts and shakes his head and looks up at her. "So I make?"

"Yes. It's in your heart, you see. The magic. I can feel it in you, just waiting for you to do something with it."

"Weird." His mother or not, he doesn't want Aelaya feeling _anything_ waiting inside him. Makes him feel like there is a worm there, near his heart. 

"Think of when you first got your name," she says, "About the emotions and images, and how finally having a name felt."

Pakka looks down at his chest, chin resting on his neck. The name? Papa had given him his name, when he was scared and hurting. It's a whole mix of emotions, something boiling hot in his chest. He wished, for once in his life, that he was able to cry. Squeezing his eyes shut, he curls in on himself tighter.

_The cage is brighter, now, as more holes are opened in the ceiling above. It isn't used to the light, and it doesn't like it. Light means that Master is here, and that means that more pain will come. It would take starving over Master coming back. Starving, at least, means there would be no more fire. Starving, at least, is less hurtful than the fire._

_Its own fire rumbles in its throat, and it sends a jet of flame up to one of the holes as he sees a shadow cover it. The angel jumps back and it hears voices above. Growling, it stalks to the very edge of the cave as the cavern cracks and an opening reaches down. Stairs form and he sees a figure cautiously walk down. It growls sharply, cutting off into clicks. It is not Master, but that does not mean the angel isn't dangerous._

_He speaks, and it hears the word for food. He finally reaches the bottom step, and then- Bends down, as if bowing. The dragon stops growling for a moment, hearing its next words. "Nathaniel is dead. He will no longer bring you harm."_

_It watches him closely, as he introduces himself, and asks it for a name. It does nothing, somewhat in shock. Master- dead? Could it be? _

_"He never named you, did he?"_

_Some sort of emotion is building in its chest and it coughs a growl. The angel starts approaching and its warning grows louder. It presses itself further against the wall. hissing. And then the angel sets something in the light. Shiny, red, and the dragon smells food. Maybe not the raw meat Master gave, but food. _

_Rumbling in its throat, it slowly moves forward, snatching up the apple and crunching down on it, swallowing it in a bite. "I have more," the angel says, "If you will come closer, I'll give it to you."_

_The dragon whistles and barks and shifts, claws scraping on the stone. This angel gave food, with no commands beforehand, with no fire and pain. It is not Master. Doesn't speak like him, or smell like him, or look like him. Studying him with its good eye, the dragon slowly, slowly, inches closer. It pauses in one of the beams of light, watching the angel's face fold into horror. _

_"He didn't even _name _you." _

_It doesn't listen. There is more food, right there. It inches forward, trying to suck it toward it with a few heavy breaths. The angel silently pushes them closer and the dragon is quick to snap the apples up, then pauses at the yellow fruit. Biting it, snarling at the sour flavor, and then deciding to eat the rest of it despite the strange taste._

_"Pakka," the angel says, and the dragon freezes. "Your name. Pakka."_

He squirms, an uncomfortable feeling starting somewhere in the cavity near his heart, and then coughs. And again, and then there's something hard going up his throat and he spits it out hurriedly on the ground. Aelaya leans back, whiskers flattening again. He doesn't look at her, staring down at the small pearl laying on the grass. It feels like something finally dislodged from his chest, and his next breath of air is easier than the last few hundred.

"Oh," Aelaya says softly, sadly. Pakka studies the pearl closely. It's a mottled black and pink, almost like a quail egg. Mostly black, with pink scattered around it. The hurt and pain, and the elation of finally having his own name. Pakka snorts and gently picks it up in his paw. It's tiny, barely the size of an angel's hand. "What now?"

"Well," she says, then pauses and copies his shrug with her wings. "What ever you want."

[...]

"Look!" Pakka insists, shoving the pearl into Small-thing's face, "Look look!"

"It's really nice, Pakka," Small-thing says, leaning away, and looking past him. "Hey, you're blocking my view."

Huffing, Pakka settles back down, glaring toward the ceremony. He's sitting behind a long table, with plates and drinks and silverware placed out. Torches getting lit- Big deal! He has a _pearl_.

Papa and Not-Papa have already seen it, but he was met with the same distance and distraction. Not so much from Papa, because he'd seemed genuinely proud, but Not-Papa had slurred something, breath reeking of the foul-water.

Snorting, Pakka watches with a distant curiosity as three torches are lit and the crowd roars. Not-missing-legs (Pakka is still trying to figure out a name for him) stands up and starts speaking. Rolling his eyes, Pakka settles down. Even he can recognize the alpha of the people, and he won't really interrupt. But he does try to set the pearl in front of Small-thing, because he feels it warrants more attention than it's getting.

"-back our Princes! And a new heir. With the war over, and our family having returned, it is a cause for celebration! We will feast, and drink, until are stomachs are full and our spirits are high. It has been a hard time, these past few decades-"

Not-Papa slumps lower in his seat, casting a sharp glare over at Papa. Pakka tries to hold back his growl, but is somewhat unsuccessful. Missing-leg looks over at him, making a hushing noise. 

"-but we have, and always will, overcome-"

Bored, Pakka starts rolling the pearl between his paws, glaring down at it moodily. Aelaya is off to the right, sitting with her head high and neck regally curved. She has even more jewelry on, which Pakka eyes greedily. He returns quickly to his pearl, though, remembering her promise to get him some jewels of his own. 

And then the smell of food hits him. He lifts his head, good ear swiveling towards the many, _many _trolleys being rolled out. Mouth watering, Pakka starts to wriggle to his feet, but Missing-leg gives him another glare. he returns it ten-fold but eyes eyes widen at the food platters being laid out on the tables.

"-so we feast! Enjoy."

"Not-missing-legs talk much," Pakka whispers to Small-thing, wriggling his head between his and Papa's seats to snap up a whole roast chicken. Papa smacks him lightly on the nose, but he's already making away with it, carrying his pearl in one paw. Sitting down to rip pieces away, he almost doesn't notice the long trolley being pushed toward him. Then plates are set in front of his nose and the lids are lifted off. 

And, by the gods, Pakka _feasts_.

[...]

Small-thing groans, which Pakka answers. His stomach is so _full_, he feels fat and bloated. It's more than he's ever eaten, he thinks, even though Papa had kept him well-fed on the island. 

"Think I'm gonna burst," Small-thing says, leaning back in his seat. He sits up again when another round of food is passed out. "Oh, god, how many desert courses _are_ there?"

"'Bout three, m' think," Not-Papa slurs. Papa looks over at him, quietly taking a sip of his water. "Nitram, maybe you should go-"

"'M fine!" Not-Papa sits up straighter, only to lean forward onto the table, reaching for his glass. He waves it and a lady comes rushing over to refill it. 

Pakka snorts and sits up on his haunches, swiveling his head around. The pavilion they're celebrating at is at the edge of the island. From here, Pakka can see many other islands sprawling, all filled with music and lights and other celebrations. He snorts and lays back down, coiling as much as he can around his pearl. 

... He must have fallen asleep. The next thing he opens his eyes to is shouting, and Not-Papa throwing plates around. Most of the crowd is gone, but the few stragglers are looking over with concerned faces. Pakka growls and gets to his feet, eyeing Not-Papa. He shouts something else - unintelligible, especially to Pakka - and pitches a plate at Papa.

Like that, Pakka snaps forward, coiling around Papa and _hissing_ at Not-Papa. "No, bad," he scolds, whiskers flailing wildly and mane ruffling. "You stay back."

"Come on, Kaizen," Not-missing-legs says, tugging at Definitely-not-Papa's elbow. "Let's go back inside. You'll draw a crowd."

Definitely-not-Papa snarls something, wings rattling. He shoves Not-missing-legs-away, stumbling a handful of steps away. He hisses something under his breath, shakes his wings out, then staggers into the air. Papa somehow squirms out of Pakka's coils and launches after him, catching him by the arm just as he pitches downward.

With Papa's help, they both fly back to the palace. Pakka watches them go with narrowed eyes, breathing in heavily to get himself to float upward. Small-thing stops him with a hand on his paw.

"Hey, Pakka," Small-thing says, "I think you should just... let them go. I think they need to talk, so... Hey, show me that pearl, again? It was really pretty."

Pakka rumbles worriedly, but settles back on the ground, stomach protesting at all the movement. He glances over at the other brothers, then back to Small-thing and holds his paw out with the pearl in his talons. Small-thing takes it carefully, turning it over in his hands. "It _is_ really nice, Pakka. Aelaya said you made it yourself? How'd you even-?"

Pakka abruptly takes it from him, and swallows it down. He can feel it settle in the little hollow in his chest and Small-thing looks mildly disgusted as he coughs it back up, slimy with a new layer of tonight's memories. It gleams a slight green, but the new layer is faint.

"Oh," Small-thing says, trying to look impressed but failing. Pakka doesn't notice. "That's- wonderful, Pakka."

"Yes, yes." Pakka starts licking it, smoothing out the new bumps until the surface is smooth and shimmering again. He noses it, then gently takes it in his teeth and winds around Small-thing, offering his back. Small-thing groans as he gets up, holding his stomach. "I think I'm gonna be sick, honestly."

"Not good," Pakka offers as consolation. He floats into the air, afraid of upsetting his own belly. As they fly on, Small-thing sighs. "Nitram's getting worse."

Pakka stays wisely silent. He gives a small nod to show he heard Small-thing. Tilting his wings, he circles over the island, watching as all the festivities are taken down. The island itself is giant, too large to fly over in one go. Maybe a day's flight, honestly. He can barely even see the end of it, all the way over at the edge of the sky. Pakka swerves back to the edge, where all the ceremonial stuff is.

"And I'm worried about him, you know? He wanted to come back, but now he's even more upset than he ever was..." Small-thing trails off and sighs, shaking his head. "Never mind, Pakka. Can we just fly for a bit?"

Pakka chortles, still watching the island below them, studying the layout. The large gazebo, the ever-lit torches, what looks like a space where gatherings are held, and buildings making a half-circle around the slanted roofing of the pavilion itself. None were as tall as it, with it having a strange second-layer that rings around the inside. But a few have smoke coming from their stacks, a clear sigh of all the cooking that had been done. 

He wheels into the open sky- But that doesn't last, as the palace island comes roaring up to meet them and Pakka has to ascend to keep from hitting a wall. He almost doesn't make it over the very top of the roof, scrambling over it and knocking a few shingles loose. Small-thing laughs slightly, patting his side in wordless comfort. Huffing, embarrassed, he continues on his path away from the palace. As they fly over the eastern gardens and the lily pad ponds, his ear pricks up at-

"- can't just tell them! I don't get why you wanted to come here-"

"Because it's our _home_!"

Pakka picks up the speed, knowing Papa can handle himself against a fight. Surely, if he can win against Pakka's old master, then he could kill his brother.

Small-thing is on a similar track of thought, but also one that is completely different. "Maybe we should go down there. You know, break it up?"

Pakka chuffs and continues on, unwilling to get into the fight. While Papa can handle himself, Small-thing cannot. He does not want Small-thing _near_ the lunatic. (A word he had recently learned from Aelaya, in regards to Pakka's old master.)

"Pakka, they're back that way. Come on." Small-thing pulls at his mane and Pakka barks at him, a wordless insistence that they will _not_. Small-thing sighs, giving up, but Pakka can hear his wings rattling and mantling. 

"It was supposed to be a fun night," Small-thing says, and he sounds so upset that Pakka twists his head around momentarily to look at him. But his flight path goes wonky and he has to level out again. "It is?"

"I guess. Some of it was... Just... Can I tell you a secret, Pakka?"

"What-that?"

"I know Mom came from here. But... I don't know what I was expecting. Not this, I guess. Our first day here, we went on lockdown, and all that talk about heirs and princes and responsibilities... I don't think I belong here."

"Small-thing hatchling," Pakka says, "No need for- ree-spond-il-ities." He manages to get the word, maybe. Probably not. It's close enough, though. "Small-thing not have care for it. Not should care. I not care."

"I know you don't, Pakka." He sounds fond, and he scratches over Pakka's scales. Pakka murmurs contentedly. But then Small-thing says, as if just realizing it. "Wait. If Martin's a prince here, and a General in the west, then... What does that do to me when he hands everything down?"

Subjects along these lines escape Pakka, mostly. But he still says, "Long time, not happen now."

"I mean, yeah, you're right. I guess I'll be grown, then, too. Wait, will Martin and Nitram grow as big as Kaitah? She's like, what, thirty feet tall?"

Pakka tries to picture thirty feet stacked on top of each other, top to bottom, then shakes his head. "No, no make sense."

Small-thing snorts and shrugs. After a long time of flying and watching the stars, he sighs and then tugs at Pakka's mane. "Alright, let's go home."

Pakka sighs, and after a few moments of dillydallying, turns to head back to the palace. "I sleep in room tonight," he says, with no room for argument.

[...]

08-11-47328

"Kinda weird to not hear from them."

Baki looks up from the microscope, raising an eyebrow. "Really. You always bitched about them bothering us."

"Yeah, but this isn't really right. You gotta agree with me, you know? I'm used to having them around, at this point." Simon shifts, plucking at the plastic he's wearing. 

"Gloves," Baki reminds. He switches out the slides and peers back down. "And your mask."

"But the cell things are all dead, right? Deathbell can't be transmitted after, what, two days?" But Simon does as asked, pulling gloves from the box hanging on the wall, and then struggling to get the duck-bill mask over his face. He mumbles a curse under his breath, which Baki ignores. 

Baki is silent for a long moment, still staring down at the cells on the glass slide. "It's a different strain," he says, after a while. "I already told you that. I don't know what it could do."

Simon comes over, bumping against him until Baki steps aside. He looks down into the scope. Waiting impatiently, Baki glances around. The lab is a mess, with notes and tubes and vials scattered all over the counters and tables. A broken chair leans against the corner, and the fridge with all his samples is so full he has to be careful opening it. In the past three months, the new strain of deathbell has started getting _scary_. Baki doesn't admit it, and he doesn't dare tell anyone his fears except for Simon.

Simon knows how to keep his mouth shut. But panic would run rampant if anyone else found out how many people he has down in quarantine. Hell, Baki feels like he's lost some of his humanity, trapping up to six people in each of those tiny rooms. In the dark, and cold- He's tried to time it so that the people in a single room all reach their final stages at the same time. No use trapping a sane person with someone beyond hope.

Knowing Simon doesn't know what the hell he's looking at, Baki pushes him away to resume his work. He sits down heavily on the stool, picking up the pencil. "I'm not sure if it's infectious," he starts, finally voicing one of his bigger fears, "But it's definitely alive."

"Which means..."

"Which means, someone can carry this without even knowing it. There's no telling if, or even when, the symptoms could come. I don't like this, Simon, the disease is _evolving_." It doesn't bode well for the future. The new strains react faster, and as of yet Baki can't fix it. He's tried- But all the mice he's used for the new cure end up dying of the disease faster than they should have. His magic isn't working- It's accelerating the disease, instead of getting rid of it.

"But you _can_ find a -"

"I don't know, Simon!" 

A beat, two, and then Baki sighs, slumping. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap."

"I honestly don't blame you." Simon pats him on the shoulder twice, then goes back toward the door. "I'm gonna go make dinner. Love you, babe."

"Shower first and- Love you too," Baki calls, then slowly pushes his stool back and gets to his feet. He steps into the decontamination room, pulling everything off and putting it into the hazard bin. Last to go are the gloves, which he pulls off carefully and discards. Sighing, he steps back out into the hallway, glancing up and down. The lobby is still lit up, and the door to their apartment is cracked and music is playing from the radio in the kitchen. He sighs. Sure, they have their own island now. The apartment here is mostly unused - but with this outbreak...

Baki flinches at the piercing scream. He glances hopelessly towards the basement door, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Fuck," he mutters. "Si, I'll be right back."

He hears Simon call something over the music and heads down. Pausing only to pull on his hazmat, he locks the helmet into place and pulls the clipboard and pen off the wall where he'd hooked it the last time he came down.

The screaming continues, and as he finally steps into the solitary hallway, he can make out some of the things the angel is shrieking.

"-ming for me, they're coming for me! Me! They're- Worms! The worms are- THe worms! Eating me! My head! My head, my head my..." She breaks off into sobbing, which turns into a gurgling cough. Baki sighs, pacing down to the farthest room and stepping into the airlock chamber. A few presses to the keypad opens the window. Four angels total, three showing obvious signs of life. He can't get in there to take the fourth out - not until the other three are gone.

The woman - Trisha, he thinks her name is - is still coughing, blood splattering the other angel slumped next to her. He growls and raises a heavy arm, trying to hit her. But the weight of his arm takes him down to the floor, into the vomit and blood. 

Baki resists the urge to be sick, glancing down at the clipboard and flipping a few pages through it. Coughing and vomiting, symptoms he hadn't anticipated with the new strain. Sure, the old deathbell had mild versions of it, but nothing to this extent. Pulmonary hemorrhaging, liver failure, mucus filling up the nasal cavity... He glances back into the window, freezing when he finds one of them staring directly at him.

Letting out a slow breath, he reaches for the keypad, but pauses and looks back at her.

"Help," she begs, green eyes wide with tears. "Let me out of here."

Swallowing, he closes the window and backs out of the airlock room. The next room holds similar results, though they're further along. One is repeatedly slamming his head against the padded wall. Baki notes with disdain that the padding is starting to wear away. A bit of the cinder block is showing through from beneath. Shaking his head, he notes down another one of his suspicions. _Dental Growth_. A strange symptom he's seen around, but not in all cases. Abnormal growths, with teeth poking through their lips, tusks growing even through the bottom of the jaw. The worst case - the one in the room he's looking at - has a cage instead of a mouth. He can't move his jaw anymore, with all the extra teeth fused together. 

Tapping his pen against the clipboard, he closes the window and steps back out into the hallway. Clipboard, back on the wall, check all the seals and locks on the doors, turn around-

Someone is down at the end of the hallway. Baki freezes, his hand still on the lock of the last door. "Ma'am?" he calls, worry rising in his gut. Simon's still upstairs, but he should have heard the door ring- No, _fuck_, the radio. Oh, god. "Ma'am, you can't be here."

Metal clinks as she takes a step forward. Baki's eyes dart down to the bird-like metal leg and foot, then back up at her. Her entire body is covered in a heavy cloak, obscuring most of her features. He sees pink eyes glint from the darkness of her hood and relief floods his stomach. "Oh," he sighs, "You're the other healer I sent for, right? I'm Baki, and you must be-"

"Fun place ya got here."

Baki clicks his mouth shut. He doesn't recognize the accent. He takes a step back, listening hard. The music is still playing upstairs.

"Y'know," she says, advancing a few steps. One foot clinks, the other makes small clicking noises. He frowns in confusion at the clearly birdlike foot - flesh and blood, as far as he can tell. What the...

"I thought I'd come 'round ta see how you're doin' with my deathbell strain."

And just like that, shivers race down his spine. "Your-?"

She looks to her right, reaching over. Without even touching it, the door hisses open, the seal letting pressure out easily. He hears a soft _click_ as the door inside unlocks. Baki takes another few steps back. "Yer tryin' yer best, ain't you, shifter? To cure it? Won't work, you know. It's not _your_ magic. You can't fix this."

There's a silence form the room she opened. Baki feels like he can't breathe. He hits the far wall, wishing he had his wings. He wants to call out for help - For Simon, but he can't make his mouth move. He feels paralyzed, as the realization sinks in that he's _fucked_. 

"Don't worry," she says so quietly he almost doesn't hear, "I'll make yours go _slow_."

The doors burst open, and the four angels trapped inside come scrambling out over each other, howling and clawing like wild animals. He sees her turn, and leave. The four pay her no mind, as they quickly see him, in his suit, the man who's come and trapped them all together to die, hasn't fed them, left them in the dark and cold and-

He bolts, rushing them as they shriek and claw their way toward them. One gets shoved away - its gnarled teeth unable to bite, but its claws try to tear his suit from him. Blood that isn't his splatters the mask, almost obscuring his vision with blue. He shifts, then, growing taller with more arms, and ignores the hazmat suit ripping. He reaches forward, crushing one of their skulls with one hand. Someone grabs his ankles and yanks him to the floor, urging a startled yelp from his throat.

It's then he calls for Simon, even as pain lances down one of his extra arms. He quickly reaches over and _tears_ it from his shoulder, crying out at the pain and bones cracking and muscles tearing. Kicking with his feet, he turns on his back and wriggles out of the pile. One of the infected angels leaps onto another, shrieking and crying and bashing his head into hers and they go down, twitching and falling limp, strips of flesh in their teeth where they tore each other's throats out. Baki turns to dispose of the last one, but its _gone_. Oh, oh _god_ no.

He runs as fast as he can, tearing up the stairs and slamming into the wall. He finds it in the lobby, heading for the apartment. He screams for Simon as he leaps onto it, ripping at its limbs and hair, trying to pull it away from the apartment. He hears Simon swear, but can't even spare the time to look over at him.

His magic is slowly wearing thin, and as the angel lands a bite into one of his extra arms, he has to pause to tear it off and seal the wound back up. Its on him again in a second, ripping viciously at the helmet. It rips away, and Baki gets to breathe one gulp of air, before the angel's blood and spittle is dripping on his face. He kicks upward, rolling over and over with it, but then he's on bottom again, and its claws are trying to tear at his throat.

Then there's a blast from a shotgun, and she tumbles off of him. Baki wriggles out of the pool of blood, crawling for the basement, smearing blue across the floor. He turns, rolling in on himself, tearing off all his extra limbs with a savagery he didn't think he possessed. Two others have small wounds on them; he seals the wounds shut, grows two more and then hurries for one of the hospital rooms. A bottle of disinfectant is there and he pries the bottle open and pours it on his face. 

It gets in his eyes, his nose, his mouth and it _burns_ oh god does it burn. Screaming, Baki collapses back to the floor, gasping through a burnt mouth and throat. When he uses the last of his magic to regrow his eyes, he blinks and looks up at the doorway.

Simon is standing there, pale and horrified. "What- What happened? Baki, what happened?"

Baki goes to speak-

And then he starts coughing.


	8. how to rest

[go on stack the cinderblocks in a cold sweat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtUusFgG7pw)

build yourself a citadel amid the foothills of regret

* * *

* * *

08-15-47328

She hasn't visited yet. Nitram isn't sure if he should be upset or not. On one hand, _he_ abandoned her. And on the other, he'd hoped she would... Not move on? God, _stupid_, that's stupid. 

But she isn't here yet, and it's been a few days since the prominent display of their return. He thinks, if she had moved on, she would at least send him a letter to welcome him back. Or maybe she feels betrayed, or maybe she hates him. The last option has him reaching for his wine glass, but Muran's sharp, quick glare, stops him. It's his second glass this morning, they're still at the breakfast table, and the glass is already almost empty.

The one good thing about not being home was that Martin never cared much for how much he drank. Sure, he cared, but not enough to intervene. Muran and Micah, on the other hand- Well. Nitram feels like he's going through withdrawals, to say the least. 

Kaitah doesn't seem to even notice, which he's grateful for. He'd be deaf by the time she'd be done ranting and raving at him for being- No, no he's not alcoholic. He isn't.

Sighing, Nitram leans back in his seat, idly watching the conversation play out. Seto, nearly shoving himself under the table, red as a tomato, as Kaitah innocently asks about a continued line of heirs. Nothing Nitram hasn't heard before. He catches Martin rolling his eyes, and saying somewhat politely, "Mom, he's not even old enough to marry, give the kid a break-"

"Oh, but there must be _someone_. Every kid has that cute puppy love aura about them, it's normal! Completely natural, child, though of course I wouldn't recommend properly courting a suitor until you're older-"

"Mom," Martin interrupts again, "I doubt the breakfast table is a good place for this-"

"Good a place as any," she retorts, and then hunches forward slightly to stare at him for a moment. "Do not interrupt me again."

Martin sighs and goes back to picking at his plate, casting the poor kid an apologetic glance. Thankfully, Kaitah changes the subject, as Nitram's noticed she has for every conversation they've had. It's worrisome, honestly, because it's almost as if she doesn't remember what they'd previously been talking about. 

"And of course, I'm sure Lazarus and Kaizen are tired from the trip, as are you, young one, but you _must_ do something about your wardrobe." Seto casts a glance down at his clothes, frowning. Nitram pointedly ignores the fact that it's Seto's favorite shirt, and he wears it pretty much every day. Martin bought it for him a while ago.

"But I like my clothes."

"Nonsense. They're beggar's clothes. And we, child, are not beggars."

"Right..." Seto tugs at the hem of his shirt and leans forward, glancing down the table at Nitram for help. He gives a useful shrug and tips the glass back to empty it. 

"I think I'll be excused," Nitram says, standing up and stretching. "Things to do."

"I'd like a word later, Kaizen- And if you're going out, take one of the guards," Micah calls, and Nitram gives some sort of affirmative gesture to placate him. Shouldering on his coat, he pulls a pack of cigarillos from the front pocket. As he brushes past a few servants, he lights one. Exit the dining hall, through the throne room, and out the main entrance. Down the steps, and-

And then someone _slams_ into him. He stumbles back, wings rattling. There's a few shouts from the guards but ignores them, waving them off hurriedly. "Shūrin!" he exclaims, dropping the silverwillow and scooping her up. She laughs, forehead bumping his as he spins her around in the air. 

"Kaizen, you're back!" She hugs him tightly, and when he sets her back down she has to stand on her toes to kiss him. He relaxes, holding her tightly. "Oh my gosh, you're so tall now," she says, unwinding her arms to tug at his jacket. She looks up at him, her brilliant cyan eyes nearly sparkling, and there's tears in them. "I..."

"I'm sorry," he says, kissing her forehead, one hand winding behind her head to twine in her hair, fingers brushing the base of her horns. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

"Hey, it's okay," she says, quietly, "You have your reasons. I don't need them right now. Oh, Kaizen, it's just so good to see you again."

"Yeah," he says, as Shūrin hugs him tightly again. Her forward-curving horns bump his jaw and he holds her closer. "It's good to see you, too."

She pulls back after a minute, nearly bouncing on her heels as she looks over him. "You're supposed to be taller, though, aren't you? I think I've stopped growing, but I know you royals don't ever do that. Lucky."

"Eh, we couldn't really grow out over at the west. And besides," he says, as they start heading down the steps, "I'm not sure I _want_ to be that tall. It's too..."

"Too bothersome? You wouldn't ever be able to go through a doorway again." She walks close to him, taking his elbow and pressing herself to his side. Nitram mumbles an agreement, and the silence trails on for a moment. 

Finally, he coughs, and says, "So, are you, uh... Did you- What I mean to say is, uh-"

"Did I move on?" Shūrin's voice is quiet as she continues, "No. I didn't."

"Oh... You- You should've." And they stop walking for a moment, her continuing a step to look up at him from the stair below.

"No, Kaizen," she says, "I just couldn't... do that. Not only for you, and for me, but for your brothers. You know how long Muran searched that rubble for the two of you?"

Nitram hadn't thought of that, and a burning hatred spears through him, and for that moment he _loaths_ Martin. But he swallows it down, takes a deep breath, and then starts walking again. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Yeah," Shūrin says, taking his elbow again as they slowly approach the palace walls. The guards let them through with heavy bows, but Nitram ignores them. "So I heard your name was Nitram now? It's a funny one, alright."

"Mart- Lazzy's idea, actually," he says, trying to defend himself. "Or at least, I think it was."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Still. His name is even worse. Nitram- Now, that's a somewhat-normal name. Probably not from here, but at least the west, from what I've read. But Martin? That's just an inverse of yours-"

"I know." Nitram picks the pace up slightly, making her have to skip to catch up, and thus keeping her quiet for a moment until she moves on to a different topic. 

"So how was it?"

"Hm?" They stop at the gondola entrance, and they both wait patiently until the crowd clears for them. Shurin battles the wind for her blonde hair, glancing back at the path they've taken from the palace. She gives the finger to the two guards that had been trailing them, which Nitram pointedly ignores. "The west, obviously. Are the stories true? Do they make their children fight and place bets on who the winner is?"

"Not quite. Children have an age limit, they can't be younger than... I think it's thirty, or twenty. And, yeah, bets are placed, but it's not by the parents."

"But what kind of parent would let their child fight? A child who can't even take up a spouse?" Shūrin makes a valid point, but Nitram just shrugs helplessly. He steps up into the gondola first, extending a hand for her to take. Smiling, he says, "The arena is nice, though. It has this giant tree, it's where the spectators sit."

"Really? Like, how big are we talking?"

"Big enough for them to add weights to the bottom of the island so it doesn't capsize." The doors slide shut and the gondola jerks as it starts down the wire. Nitram wasn't planning on going to the shopping district, but he doesn't feel like returning to the palace. And besides, he'd been planning on going to the wingsmith shops to see how things have evolved. He's sure his own wings are completely outdated.

Joining Shūrin at the windows, Nitram watches the islands pass by below. The streams of air traffic flow randomly, swooping and dipping to the invisible patterns of the wind. The city is... brighter than he remembered it. And he catches himself smiling slightly. "It's... It's good to be back."

Maybe there's a sorrowful note in his voice, because Shūrin turns to look at him, her eyes just as sad. "I... Yeah, Kai, it is. I... You asked me if I moved on, and I didn't. Did you?"

Nitram swallows, and then takes a deep breath and turns to her, smiling. "No. Do you- Do you want me back?"

She looks at him for a long, long moment. Nitram catches his hands shaking, so he tightens them on the rail. 

Turning back to the window, Shūrin quietly says, "I do. You know I do. But... We're not just kids anymore, you know? We're not young and stupid. I... I completely got rid of the idea of marrying into the royal family, and... While I romantically haven't moved on, my _life_ has. I have my own place, and I've... I don't know, I've grown up."

"I understand. You know you should- You should write down your address. I'd love to visit, but..." He starts to take a step away, already trying to lessen the blow, remove most of himself from the situation. 

"I have a job," she says, "At one of the animal shelters. I think you should visit someday, maybe bring your nephew. And- Hell, yeah, here give me your hand." He obliges, as she pulls a pen from her pocket and scrawls down an address. Glancing over it, he continues the conversation. "We have a dragon already. He doesn't need a dog."

"But maybe a cat?" She grins at him, and it's that oh-so familiar smirk that he fell in love with in the first place. He can't help but smile back. "Which kind?" he asks.

"There's this real feral son of a bitch that we've been trying to get adopted," she says, tilting her head to her shoulder slightly. "Little shit scram of a thing. Her name's Benny. If your nephew likes cats, she's just the cat for him."

"Well, I'll have to talk it over with M- Lazarus. He's adamant about not getting another pet. Not that Pakka is a pet, but... He's enough to handle."

"Oh, I heard he got into the palace. It's in the papers, actually, I'll show you if we pass by a magazine stand. How is Lazzy doing, by the way? I'm sure it's almost like a culture shock coming back here after so long."

Nitram thinks about everything that's changed, and everything that hasn't. He thinks about Martin's distance, and the void that is yawning further and further between them. He sighs. "I.. He's..."

"Ah," Shūrin says simply, patting the back of his upper arm. "It's okay. I'm sure he's just... in shock."

"It's not even the whole returning thing." Nitram glances around as the gondola sways to a halt. The doors slide open and he steps down, offering a hand to her. She takes it and they continue on into one of the many shopping districts. People leave them plenty of space, almost like Nitram has a glowing ring around him warding them off. "It's just... He's changed, since before we even- left. I'm not sure if I even know who he is anymore."

"Well, people change. It's nothing we can stop." She stops for a moment in front of a display window, eyeing a nice pair of heels at the bottom of a mannequin. Wordlessly, Nitram leads her in the store. Their conversation pauses as they separate - her going to browse, and him waving the shopkeeper down to fetch a pair of shoes. He gives a casual glance at her current shoes, a pair of heels that seem somewhat identical to the ones she wants, and tells him the size. He quickly goes to get them, and Nitram has them checked out and paid for before Shūrin even comes back. She gives the bag a frown, raising an eyebrow.

Shrugging, Nitram leads her from the shop. "Still," he says, as if the conversation didn't even pause, "I'm not sure what to do with him anymore. He's gotten so... reclusive."

"What went on in the west to separate you two?" she asks, poking his arm. "I went through hell and back each time to separate you from his hip. It's hard to imagine you two growing distant."

Nitram stops walking for a moment, and closes his eyes against the duel's memories, when things reached a boiling point and then the overflow. He thinks of how long it took Martin to come back from the ground with Seto- Why was Seto on the ground?

No, no, Seto was up with Nitram that whole time Martin was gone... Right? Yeah, no, he was. He took care of the garden when Nitram stopped.

"It is hard to imagine," he agrees, because he can't tell her everything, not in public at least. And he can't tell her half of everything, anyway, without outing what Martin did to get them in this pile of shit in the first place. "Anyway," he says, "Where to now? Want a drink?"

"It's not even noon." She gives him a strange look, but he quickly brushes it off as they continue walking. "What, you don't like having a good time?"

Shūrin starts to say something, but his attention is suddenly snapped away by the shop across the street. She notices and stops. "Oh, I bet you'd love to have an eastern pair of wings. Those smiths over in the west have no idea what they're doing. Come on!" 

She starts out tugging him along, but he ends up almost dragging her through the door in his haste. The window _did_ have tails. Small ones, of course, meant for humans, but _tails_ nonetheless. The few people in the shop startle as he barges in, and then they all immediately drop into a bow. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he weaves around the hanging wings, pausing at a section where tails are hung up, then hurries on to the desk. "Tails," he says, "How big do they come in?"

The poor cashier blinks at him, stuttering as she hunches down on herself. Nitram inwardly groans, and then points eagerly at the door that goes back to the smithing rooms. "Go get your smith. Please."

Shūrin comes up to him at that point, watching as the girl scurries away. "Aw, you didn't have to scare her."

"Didn't mean to." Nitram's nearly bouncing on his heels. He can't really remember how the surgery worked for humans - if there was surgery at all, he knows of wings being able to be strapped on. But _tails_\- That's not something that was there before. Sure, he was fiddling around with his own designs, but nothing foolproof. The smith, a heavyset, short halfie, her face streaked with soot and oil, comes out from the curtain, glaring hard at him. She blinks and looks shocked, and only _then_ does Nitram recognize her. "Holy shit," he says, "Aleksei?"

"Kaizen!" she laughs, and stomps up to the register. "The hell are you one about, scaring my poor cashier?"

"I didn't know you had your own shop-"

"I heard you were back. Didn't know you would show your face around here." She slaps her oil rag down on the counter, hopping onto it to give him a swift hug, and then a hard punch to his shoulder.

He leans back, wings rattling happily. "You're still in the business," he says, pleasantly surprised. She's getting older, and it's obvious. Nitram knew halfies age faster, more like humans but with a longer lifespan. Her hair is all gray by now, and there are too many wrinkles to count on her face. Her Russian accent is still there, but faded somewhat after having spent so long in this area of the Above. She squints at him and pulls her glasses on. "As if I wouldn't be?"

"Well, no, that's- That's not really-"

"Ah, fuck off. I knew what you meant. It's good to see you back, Kaizen- And where the hell did you get those wings from?" She hops down from the counter, yanking one of his wings. He leans with the weight, feathers rattling.

"Made them myself," he admits, glancing around the shop for a moment and shuffling away from her prying eyes and fingers. "Uh- More in the western style, so don't be too harsh."

"I did not teach you that shit," she spits, stomping a foot and reaching up to grab the towel to smack him with it. "I taught you the eastern style, you damn airhead. Where is your pride?"

"Had to blend in," he says, waving Shūrin's wary hand from his elbow. She seems to want to get between him and Aleksei, but a quick glance tells her it's alright. "And besides," he argues, "Didn't you say something about being diverse in our smithing?"

"Bah," she says, smacking one of the primary feathers and listening to the ringing noise. "Good material though. Come, come, back here." 

With that, she's stomping her way to the back. Nitram eagerly follows, practically pulling Shūrin with him. "I was looking for a tail," he says, eyeing the wings in progress. He pauses at one and unfurls part of it, glancing over the spinning gears and wires. The outer shell isn't built yet, revealing the fine workings beneath. "Lost mine, and now I feel out of place."

"Of course you would." Her own short tail snaps side to side as she hops up on one of her stools, yanking down a rack of half-made tails. Nitram goes over, leaving Shūrin to her own devices with a squeeze of her hand. "No tail? How the hell do you fly?"

"It's difficult," he lies, examining one without the outer shell. It's obviously meant for a human, and isn't even the length of his arm. But now he's seeing a few things he had missed in his own designs. "Was working on some diagrams for one, but got caught up with, uh, coming back."

Aleksei pushes a few metal tails out of the way and pulls a longer one down. "Another halfie was born without one," she says, "Recently went through a growth spurt, and this is the model I'm working on. Here, look."

He takes it from her gently, but she smacks his hand and yanks it back, twisting it around in what seems like an almost painful manner. "If you have to be gentle with them-"

"Then don't fly with them. Right." He winces, having forgotten that for all the past years. Taking the metalworking back from her, he feels for the correct latches, opening up panels and pulling wires away to study the skeleton. That, he at least got right, hard and flexible fibers, interlocking springs- Less gears, though, but he supposes that magic would make up for it. "Do you think you could make one for me?"

"If you help, yes." Aleksei takes it back and hangs it on the rack again. "Not in the shape I used to be. Good thing you came back around before I kicked the bucket."

Wincing, Nitram tries to make some excuse, but she waves him off. "Ah, anyway, care for a drink?"

Shūrin huffs behind him, but Nitram brightens at the thought of booze. "That would be wonderful."

[...]

Stepping inside their bedroom and quietly sliding the door shut, Nitram glances around. Papers are scattered at the desk, and Seto is unhappily lying on the bed. He looks up when Nitram comes in and gives a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank god, you have no idea how bored I am."

"I'm only here for a moment," he says, already heading for his dresser. He pulls out a clean button-down, quickly pulling his shirt off and changing. Tossing the oil-stained shirt towards the bathroom, he turns back to Seto. "Where's Martin? And Pakka?"

Seto shrugs, slumping. "They made Pakka leave after he broke a vase. Martin is... God knows where. Disappeared after breakfast, I think. Where have you been?"

"Out," he answers simply, snatching a bottle from the wine shelf and heading for the door. "Seto, go outside. Fly around and see the sights. Do something."

"I don't wanna go outside, though. I don't know anybody."

"Meet people," Nitram supplies, and then pauses halfway out the door. He turns around, taking a deep breath and saying, "Look, kid, we're gonna be here for a while."

Seto blinks, frowning at him. "What do you mean? No, it was supposed to be a short trip, remember?"

Nitram _laughs_ at that, despite Seto shrinking down, looking even more depressed than he had. "Seto, we're home. We aren't going anywhere for a while." And then he shuts the door behind him. 

[...]

Micah seems appreciative of the wine he brings, and pops the cork out with a bit of magic. Pouring Nitram's glass, and then his own, he says, "So let me ask you something."

"Yeah?" Nitram warily takes the glass from him, refusing to meet his eyes. He's still running high from earlier, but now, sitting here with the fireplace being the only sound, he feels out of his depth. He hadn't thought much of it when Micah asked for a word, but now he's overthinking.

"Nathaniel."

Nitram nearly chokes on his wine, coughing slightly as he sets the glass on the side table. He glances over at the fire, watching the flames crackle. "What about him?"

"Lazarus didn't go into detail, but he mentioned a sigil. A banishing sigil? Of course, placed on the skin- that could do some damage. But I saw the photos." Micah takes a sip of his own drink, sighing and leaning back in his chair. When Nitram looks at him, he realizes just how long has passed since he had last truly talked with him.

"Photos?"

"Spies," Micah states simply. "When the western ranks started invading, Muran thought it would be a good idea."

And Nitram has to think back to Seto's mother, and her sacrifice, and he reminds himself to ask about her, ask about her family. Seto might want to meet them. "Ah, right. I think I knew of one-"

"But anyway." Nitram slouches back at the somewhat dismissive tone. Leaning his chin on his hand, he waits for Micah to continue. "A simple banishing spell cannot do that sort of damage, no matter how powerful the user may be. And sadly, most of the sigil was gone by the time... Well, by the time the body eroded, and by the time one of ours managed to get down to it."

"So what are you asking?"

Micah sighs at him, and Nitram resists the urge to grind his teeth. He'd almost forgotten how it was to talk to his brothers. But it's a bright reminder, now. The dismissive tone, the impatience- Hell, it seems like he'd forgotten all about it when he thought he'd never see them again. Death has a way of making someone so much better than they were. 

"What was it? How did it do that? I suppose you don't remember the exact markings?"

Resolving himself to being interrogated, Nitram finishes off his glass in a few gulps and reaches for the bottle. Micah watches him as he says, "Mart- Lazarus made it. Something I hadn't seen before, but I think he got the idea from-" 

And here he stops. Because he remembers, starkly, that there was a sigil on Seto's back. And he remembers the magical outlash when it was interrupted... But there _isn't_ a sigil on Seto's back. There never was. "I... I'm not sure where he got the idea from," he says slowly, blinking rapidly, trying to figure out why he feels so muddled all of a sudden. He glances down at his full glass and shakes his head. "You'll have to ask him."

Micah huffs and looks away for a long moment. Nitram can tell he's thinking; that face is so familiar, and he remembers Martin making it whenever he was lost in thought. He snaps his eyes down when Micah glances back over at him.

"Anyway," Micah says, waving his hand. "That's not what I wanted you here for. You're going to have to resume your training for King. I know it's earlier than you had originally expected, but Muran is overworked and stressed, and the two of you need to step up and take your responsibility back."

Nitram meets his eyes, despair growing rapidly in his stomach. "Micah, I- I don't think-"

"I know, I know, you just got back. But this is a serious conversation, Kaizen, this can't be brushed off anymore. I'm not fit to rule, and Muran is only one man. Mother is obviously not available for the position, either."

"I don't want this."

"Muran is still Judge," Micah continues, trodding right over Nitram's words. "And you are still King-to-be. Your position is more demanding, at this point. Once you step back in, Muran can go back to simply being Judge. All I'm asking, is that you begin your training again, as soon as-"

"No, I think you misunderstand me. I don't _want_ to be King. I- I don't want that."

"It's soon, I understand. Obviously, you wouldn't be jumping right in. You've wasted centuries of training, to- To frolic over in the west, playing make-believe wingsmith. But now isn't the time for childish games, Kaizen-"

"It's Nitram," he growls through his teeth, and that's when Micah finally looks at him, almost startled. "My name isn't Kaizen anymore, and I'm not- I'm not going to be King. I can't do that- Hell, I can barely get out of _bed_ in the morning! I can't- I can't _do_ that, Mic-"

"I'm not _asking_." His voice rises and Micah sits up from his slouch. Nitram shrinks back, wings rattling and mantling slightly. "This isn't a favor I am asking for, Kaizen, this is a _demand_. I may not be fit to rule but I am still your older brother, and while Muran may be King I am still head of this household. And since you are my younger brother, you will listen to me, or so help me-"

Nitram shoots to his feet, wings spreading. "I am not your brother!" he howls and pitches his glass toward the fireplace. "I lost that, do you understand? I don't want to be part of this royal family, I don't want to be- I don't want to be King! I was fine with it before, but I'm not _now_! I was brainwashed, Micah, you made it seem like being in that position was more important than anything, even my own fucking happiness. You made it seem like that's all I am."

"You will _not_ speak to me like that," Micah hisses, pointing at him with his good hand. "I don't care if you don't want to do it, it needs to be done. For the betterment of your country, and your family-"

"Martin is my family! Seto is my family! Neither of them want this, and I don't either. _Fuck_ you, for putting this on me. I don't give a damn about your fucking politics and your fucking bloodline and heirs and- Nothing! I don't want this!"

"You did when you were still here!" Micah's voice reaches a crescendo, and Nitram stumbles back as the fire extinguishes and electricity _crackles_ around Micah. "You did, and you cannot _lie_ to me like this, saying you do not want it now. What happened to my brothers? What happened to you, Kaizen, to put these insane thoughts in your head? You were fine then, and you will be fine now. As will Lazarus, and your nephew. They will _deal_, you will _deal_. I have never lived for myself, and that is the curse of this family. You will not either, and if you hate me for that- then so be it."

Nitram stares at him for a long moment, Micah panting and the sparks still dancing around him like miniature lightning bolts. Nitram screws his eyes shut, praying that when he opens them, he'll be home, in his workshop, waking up from a horrible dream.

But Micah is still there when he opens his eyes, and he realizes that his vision is blurry. Ashamed, and embarrassed, the fight leaves him. Micah stares at him for a long, long moment, and Nitram keeps his eyes averted. "You're excused," Micah says eventually, leaning back in his chair. "Thanks for the wine."

Nitram bows, and then hurries from the room, _aching_ for a strong drink.

[...]

There is no solace to be had up on the roof. Nitram knows this, but he still goes up there, toting an armful of bottles and a couple packs of cigarillos. And he sits, and drinks, and tries not to think but that happens anyway.

He'd been _happy_ to come back. He _was_ happy, he thinks, for just a short while. Seeing Shūrin and Aleksei, having the ease of talking and just- Being, just _being_. Just finally feeling like he fits, and he doesn't have to hide. But that wasn't right, it really wasn't. He thought coming back home would be the end of this long depression- would be the end of his misery. But it's not, and-

Magic crackles out into the sky. Nitram's breath hitches as he watches the prominent display. Electric blue lightning, slicing up through the clouds and sparkling out among the clouds like shattered diamonds and glass.

He waits for a long moment, waits for the smell of ozone to wash over him. He didn't think Micah had it in him anymore for that sort of power. But he's the _only_ one Nitram's ever seen control electrical magic, sans their grandfather. But that man is long gone, and Nitram has very few memories of him, as he was too young to even talk. 

He takes a shot from his bottle, hoping the taste would keep the scent of ozone out of his throat. But that smell never comes, even though the palace grounds should be swarming with it by now. He glances around, frowning. Surely, if Micah was out letting off his anger like this, a few guards would be coming around to make sure everything was alright. It _could _always be an attack, though that isn't all that likely anymore.

When no shouts are raised and nobody comes running, Nitram takes another swig and then sets his bottle down between the rows of shingles. Pausing for only a moment to make sure none of them will roll away, he turns and slides down the roof.

He stumbles when he hits the ground, and then slowly heads toward the garden where the magic had come from. The hairs on his neck rise and he pauses in his steps, and then lightens his feet. Something feels _wrong_, for some reason. It feels like something bad is going to happen, or something is watching him. A quick glance around debunks the latter, but he still feels inexplicably anxious for some reason.

As he approaches, he can hear the sound of rustling, and a few footsteps. Someone is saying something, but he misses most of it until he reaches the end of the pavilion, and the garden splays around him. Confused, he looks around, trying to pinpoint where the person is. "-Again."

"But did you _see_ that? Lightning! That was lightning!"

And that's his brother's voice. Nitram has to stop again, and duck into the bushes as he finally rounds a bend in the garden and two figures come into view. He doesn't recognize the man that Martin is with. He's short, probably not even six-foot, so definitely human. His back is turned to where Nitram is, so all he can see is his long brown hair and his jeans. "I know that was lightning. Ag-"

"No, no, I don't think you understand. I've never been able to do that, and- _Lightning_! Only Micah's able to do something like that, Nitram can barely get sparks, and I-"

"I _know_, Martin. Now do it again."

Training. That's what Martin's doing. But- But Martin was _never_ able to use electricity magic. Nitram can manage _some_ sparks, enough to frighten people off, but- how the _hell_ did Martin manage to make a full-out assault like that?

Martin grumbles something and turns in a slow circle, staring up at the sky. Nitram ducks down further, not even daring to breathe. He reaches out and gently pulls a branch out of his view. And then Martin _moves_, twisting his arms and leaning back on one heel. Then, slamming his foot forward, _sigils_ burst around his hands, blue light dazzling Nitram's eyes as lightning once again arches into the sky.

Awestruck, Nitram thinks about revealing himself, but- But those sigils... Those weren't ones he recognized and- _How_ did Martin make them glow in the air like that?

As the light fades, the man claps slowly. "Impressive. Now, try to keep that around you. I want you to work on your control, now. Hold it in your hands as long as you can."

Martin sighs, and then is shifting into another stance, this one slightly different from the first. The sigils burst back into the air, lighting up the clearing as firebolts crackle around his hands. Nitram shrinks back at the raw _power_ dancing between Martin's palms, resting like a fidgety cat. It crawls up his arms and he hears Martin grunt-

And then the magic explodes, sending Martin flying into a tear and shaking blossoms from its branches. The man laughs mockingly and then is suddenly twisting into the form Martin tried. And, effortlessly, he conjures the same power, bolts snapping and hissing in his palms.

Fearful, Nitram shrinks back, watching with wide eyes as the man easily extinguishes the magic. No, that's- that's not _right_. You can't just dispel something like that. You have to let it release, and- And the magic doesn't _smell_, and suddenly he's- Back at the hospital, after Martin's duel with Nathaniel, and there was that strange human who could wield magic, and there wasn't any smell of magic-

And suddenly bolts are slamming into the ground in front of him, and he goes shooting back, wings snapping against him to stay away from the electricity. The man- What did Seto say his name was? Aza, _Aza_ is charging another attack, stepping in front of Martin.

"How are you here?" Aza shouts, and Nitram has to go scrambling to the left as another bolt spikes to where he'd just been. He struggles into the air, but something grabs him around his middle, pinning his wings, and he's flung through the air and skidding into the ground. He turns on his side, coughing, struggling to crawl away when another too-heavy weight is pressed down on him. Panicking, he hisses a stream of fire from his hand, waving it toward Aza. The man easily sidesteps, dispelling it with barely a twitch of his fingers. The weight- The magic, what kind of magic is this? - presses down harder, and then Martin shoves Aza back. "You're hurting him!"

"Martin, I have time fucking _frozen_," Aza spits, and points toward Nitram as he struggles to his hands and knees. "Tell me how the _fuck_ he's here."

"You- What-" Martin looks over at Nitram, eyes wide. "I-"

"I'll- I'll just go," Nitram gasps, hand at his ribs where he's sure they're cracked. His wings won't respond, the metal twisted beyond the ability to move. He staggers to his feet, coughing at the pain. "I won't- I won't tell Muran, I swear-"

"I don't care," Aza snaps, turning to him. His eyes- Oh, _god_, his eyes- There's too many pupils. Twelve irises, six in each eye, and this man isn't even _human_-

Martin shoves Aza by the shoulder, hurrying over to Nitram. "He won't say anything, Aza-"

"He's not even supposed to be here," Aza spits, and even Martin shrinks back. "Val and Julen made one too many, Martin, I've told you this. I told you to keep an eye on him, and now look. I-"

Lightning crackles in the sky and Aza pauses, looking up. He scowls and then holds a finger up to them for a moment, taking a few paces away and pulling out a phone. The twins stand and watch him as he answers a call, and puts the phone to his ear, and says- "I swear to fucking _god_, Val I'm so sick of this shit... No! No, you come down here and fix this your fucking self- I don't _care_ if you have to Wipe a planet, this is more important!"

Nitram glances at Martin, questioningly, and Martin gives a quick, _terrified_ shake of his head. "Just... Be quiet, okay? Let me handle this." Martin's voice barely rises above a whisper, and he flinches when Aza screams in frustration.

"I live here! My _daughters_ live here and last I checked, they were yours, too! No, no do _not_ give the phone to Julen, I swear to fucking god Valius, if you give that damn phone to Julen I will _castrate_ you, and I don't give a fuck if you're some all-knowing god or not, I will find a way." He pauses for another few moments, foot tapping rapidly on the ground. "No. No, instead of talking to each other, you each made one, and now we have one too many, and this is _your_ mistake, so you will come down here and fix it, or so help me-"

"Alright!" A bolt crackles down, slamming into the ground and knocking both Martin and Nitram off their feet. Groaning, holding his ribs, Nitram turns on his good side and looks over. Some_thing_ is standing where the bolt struck. "God, Aza, I'm here, alright? Fucking- You-" It points at Martin. "-get up."

And then Martin is getting up, not even apologizing to Nitram when it jostles his ribs. He groans and starts to get to his knees, but can't seem to get up past that. Something is crawling over his skin, and he doesn't have to think too hard to know what's standing in the clearing. 

"You want this fixed, Aza?" The thing turns to Aza, and starts to wave an arm. "Fine! I'll just- blip him out of existence, hm? Oh, but wait, what if something goes wrong? It's always good to have a backup, and this dumbass here barely knows how to hold lightning, much less end a war! We still have to have options, Aza, or did you forget that?"

"I'm not fucking _stupid_, Valius." Aza points at the thing. "But _I_ actually plan on having things go right, and-"

"And you can't _see_ how many options are out there! You can't see that, Aza, and I _can_. It doesn't matter what _you_ plan, I-"

"I'll kill him myself! I'll break my contract, too, and kill the kid! You want things to go right, Val, then _you_ train him-"

"Hey," Martin shouts, and the two of them are suddenly silent. The thing whips around, and Nitram nearly blacks out, because there is no _face_ there, not even a blank spot there's just _nothing_ there and he feels like he's looking at Death itself. "You kill my brother and Seto, and I'll refuse to-"

"Don't get your fucking tail twisted," the Death thing says, and turns its head to glare hard at Aza. "This is the last time I'll step in, Aza, I have more important work to-"

Aza's gone. Nitram blinks and he's gone, and he feels like he just stepped into a kitchen where a dysfunctional family is fighting. He reels slightly, feeling lightheaded. The thing gives a drawn-out sigh, and then turns to Martin, all malice gone. "Look," he says, almost gently, and suddenly Nitram _can_ see its face. And he'd be handsome, if the sense of wrongness would go away. Its eyes are still gone, but there's a mouth, a nose, and eyebrows, so Nitram won't complain.

"Look, I... Things aren't going the way we planned for this world, Martin. Aza won't do anything drastic, but we can't keep wiping memories and skipping time back, because the butterfly effect is fucking with our other planets, and She's waking up- No, no, I..." The thing rubs its forehead, then sighs and waves its hand and suddenly Nitram _remembers_, Seto was from the Ground and Seto died and he remembers _all_ of it, and all the fake memories aren't real and-

"He's part of your deal, now," The thing says, pointing at Nitram, and suddenly he knows _exactly_ what sort of deal it is, and _exactly_ what it entails, and there's a searing pain on his wrist but he already knows what it will look like. He feels dizzy. "DOn't bother filling him in on it, he knows now. And you, uh, Nitram. Aza's right. Julen and I made one too many, but you're our backup in case something happens to your brother. Keep each other safe, and keep each other alive. Aza will be back in- Hopefully, he'll be back in a day or so to resume your training. Just- I'll deal with him, you two carry on."

"No," Martin says, and Nitram has to echo him. He feels like he just had this sort of conversation with Micah, and-

"Sorry," the thing says, and suddenly it's gone.

Nitram sits up, touching his ribs and wondering how they'd been healed in the past second. Martin collapses down on the ground next to him, his face in his hands. 

"So this is why you've been avoiding me?" Nitram asks, quietly, and Martin glances over at him, surprised. "I have?"

"You've been distant," he affirms. Martin sighs and returns his head to his hands. His whole body posture screams _I'm sorry_ and Nitram feels relieved to find that he can read that.

They sit in silence for a long moment, before Nitram quietly puts his hand on Martin's shoulder. "I, uh... I'm not sure what to say."

He realizes he isn't drunk, either, and he has to curse the thing that had been standing there a few moments ago, because he knows that it definitely sobered him up. He feels like he needs to be drunk to have the upcoming conversation.

"But do you understand?" Martin asks, quietly. "Why I-"

"Yeah," Nitram says, cutting him off. "I- I'm not... angry. I should be, I think. Keeping something this big from me- What happened to just- What happened to the whole 'we're all we have' Martin?"

"But that's not true anymore," Martin points out. "It hasn't been. Seto's with us, and Pakka, and now we're back home and-"

"And I don't think I want to be. And- And- God." He rubs his eyes with his thumbs, then sighs. "Okay, so... We can't mention this or- or anything about it to anyone? But what about Seto? Does he know?"

Martin's silent. Nitram groans. "Martin, tell me the kid knows. The memory wipe had to have just been for me and a few other people, right? It didn't include him?"

"You can't tell him," is what Martin says, and Nitram's heart sinks. "You _can't_, Nitram. The deal can't be broken. It's not like... It's not like if we say something, and Aza doesn't find out, then all is fine. The moment we break the contract is the moment Seto's just- _gone_. And I can't do that to him."

"But this is cruel. He- He has no idea, does he?"

"That's not the point. Sure, maybe it's cruel- But besides, I think... I think he's going to find out soon, anyway. Aza said something a little while ago, and... God." Martin slumps back, falling onto the ground. His ports scrape on the stone and he shifts uncomfortably, then sits back up. "I don't like it, but this is the lot I drew."

"It's not even- You didn't do this on purpose, though, this is something beyond us. Right?"

Martin looks away and Nitram stares at him, reading the misery radiating from him. Finally, he sighs, and mutters, "Anyway, to the original topic... I should be angry, but I'm not. I know why you've drawn away, and- Yeah, it's shitty, but I can't be mad with what I know. I mean, I'm mad, but not at you. I guess just- at this whole situation."

Nitram looks back over to find a clear look of relief. Martin takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Nitram lets the silence carry on, but then he says, "I'm not mad at you, but I don't want this."

"I know," Martin says, and Nitram knows he doesn't want it either. "You had a choice, and I didn't, and I'm sorry I dragged you into it."

"I kind of stumbled into it on my own... Micah and I got into a fight. He wants us to resume our training."

"Fuck," Martin swears and then slumps back to the ground. Reaching around and popping his wings off to set them aside, Nitram joins him. They lay like that for a while, when Martin says, "I'm guessing you don't want to."

"I think we were brainwashed when we were young. I think you knew, and I never saw it until just now. I was stupid, and- I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. We're both fucked over, I guess."

"Pretty much."

The crickets are chirping in the garden around them. Nitram closes his eyes, tired all of a sudden. Finally, he sighs and says, "We should probably get inside."

Martin quietly gets up, helping Nitram up to his feet. Gathering his wings, and noticing they're fixed, he starts heading in. "We have to do something about Micah and Muran, though. We can't drag Seto into all this royal bullshit, either, because I _know_ he won't want that."

"We do have to return to the west," Martin says, but that's not a fix. They both know only he has to go back, and it will be hard to convince their family and country that they _all_ have to leave.

"Let's just... Let's just leave it for tonight. I'm tired, and you probably are as well. Come on." Nitram pulls ahead, and he hears Martin's footsteps pick up in pace to keep alongside him. Thankfully, Martin stays quiet. The palace is dark, at this hour, and they know the guard patterns by heart. Today is now the 16th, so they make sure to keep their travel in accordance with the pattern that changes every night. Avoiding the nightingale floorboards is easy; they have it memorized. And, silently, the two of them walk through the winding halls, and to their room. Martin pushes the door open and glances around as Nitram slips inside as well.

Hanging his wings upon the hooks, Nitram glances over to find Martin pulling the blankets over Seto. The kid has a habit of kicking them off during nightmares. Sighing, Martin goes for the desk, pulling out an armful of books. He gestures at the couch and Nitram sits down with him.

"You'll want to read these," Martin whispers, voice low so he doesn't wake Seto. "They'll help with training because I don't think Aza will have much patience for you."

Nitram flips the first one open, reading over the index. Flipping mindlessly to a random page, he pauses and glances sharply over at his twin. "A banishing sigil? What the hell is-"

"Shh!" Martin presses his finger to Nitram's mouth and glances over at Seto, then glares at him. "It's not for us. Aza wanted me to know it- I don't know. Something about angels from his world or whatever, being worse than the ones here. He only glossed over it, and it doesn't work on us. Aza proved that to me."

"What do you mean, other angels? Like-"

"He has pictures, actually. Apparently he's friends with a couple of them. I'll ask him next time he comes around to show you." Martin points at the sigil, pressing his finger flat against it. "See? Nothing. Yeah, sure, it looks the same, but it's not _our_ magic, and by those laws, it doesn't see us as angels. I guess. I don't know. Aza likes to be cryptic; I think he gets off on it or something."

Nitram huffs and shakes his head, glancing at the dreaded symbol again before turning another handful of pages. "So this is what you've been working on?"

"Yeah. Pretty much." Martin sighs and relaxes back into the cushions, scratching the side of his head. "You won't be able to use them until he gives you a Well, but-"

"And that is?"

As an answer, Martin sighs and leans forward, tugging his shirt up. Nitram squints at the sigils scrawled over his skin, staring in horror. Tattoos. "Fucking hell, Martin. It's that serious?"

"Aza can move his," Martin supplies, "It's kind of impressive-"

"And you're sure he's the good guy here?"

"I think it's more like he's morally ambiguous. Look, I don't know what's going to happen in the future, and he won't tell me. He just says I need to be ready and- If it's _anything_ about that group, Nitram... Then I'll need all the help I can get."

Nitram opens his mouth to protest when they hear Seto groan and shuffle in bed. "The fuck are you guys awake?" the kid gripes, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Martin reaches forward and there's a subdued glow, and then the books flash away.

"I can ask you the same thing, kiddo," Martin says, twisting around on the couch to glare at him. "It's past your bedtime."

"Fuck you," Seto bites, and then promptly falls back asleep. Martin laughs slightly, then turns and- Picks up one of the books. At his touch, it reappears, and he quietly says, "Invisibility spells. Haven't tried out transportation yet, but this works just as well."

Nitram wants a drink. Really badly. He reaches for the bottle, but Martin stops him. Seeing Nitram's glare, he relents. "Not too much," he says, firmly, but Nitram only rolls his eyes at that. "Sure. You want some?"

Martin hesitates, then sighs and gets up. Nitram watches him, smirking, as he begrudgingly gets two glasses from the wine cabinet. "Thought so," Nitram says, pouring them both a generous helping. Setting the bottle down and taking the glass, he raises it up.

"A toast," he says, "To having no control in our lives."

"Cheers." And they drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH SO UH  
IT WASNT SUPPOSED TO UH TURN OUT LIKE THIS BUT I GUESS THE FUCK IT DID
> 
> anyway, i decided i didnt want martin and nitram to be on that bad of a note, considering what's all gonna happen, so uhhhhhhhhhHHHHH i guess this is a thing now. yall will have no idea what im talking about until everything happens but yknow. okay. sure, nitram, i guess if this is what you want. 
> 
> anyway, shurin's my fucking favorite and i love her. pretty sure her name was mentioned before but yknow.
> 
> and to clear some things up. martin = lazarus, nitram = kaizen. anybody in the east will refer to them as these names (ecept maybe shurin, she's trying, yknow?) and the twins (at least nitram) will feel pressured to refer to each other as their old names. seto doesn't give a fuck either way he just thinks their names are weird, period.   
and ive realized how many n/m names are here and i??? like??? i hate myself because of it and i sincerely apologize for it.
> 
> but uh. yeah no i fucking. i love nitram. and i love martin. and i lvoe pretty much everyone up to this point but there are a few bitches that you havent seen yet that i will ALSO love. love. fuck. fuck this thing is tearing me up to write but i cant spoil anything.
> 
> (you know there's some authors who write really thought-out a/n's. and then there's me)
> 
> well, next chapter will be up god knows when, so i'll see you then. review and tell me what you think, please, i need support to get through this book.


	9. i continue, circling

08-16-47328

"You're up early," Muran says as Martin wanders into the dining hall. He gestures at one of the many empty seats, returning his attention to the papers in front of him. An empty plate and a cold almost-empty cup of coffee lay among the documents, telling of about how long Muran has been here. 

"Couldn't sleep," Martin says, awkwardly sitting down. He taps his fingers on the table, relieved when a servant comes out from the side passage and comes to him with a bow. After taking his order - just a simple breakfast, as it's too early to start up the fucking feast that they usually make - Martin looks back at Muran, remembering what Nitram had said last night about Micah.

"What's all that?" Martin asks, grabbing one of the sweetbreads from the basket in the middle of the table. Muran looks up for a moment, then back down.

"We found a shifter," he says, and Martin freezes, mind instantly jumping to Baki. 

Struggling to swallow the bread, he prompts, "Oh?"

"A young woman living a few islands from here. Surprisingly close, which isn't good." Muran sighs and flips one of the papers over, glancing over what's on it before taking a pen out and signing the front. "They managed to get her under control just two hours ago. We think she may have multiple magics, honestly, but she won't tell us."

"Why do you say that?" Relieved that it isn't, in fact, one of his only friends, Martin starts eating again, mindlessly thanking the server when his food is brought out. He pokes at it as Muran talks.

"A few police went to investigate a quote-unquote "crazed" woman in the street screaming about the end times. She doesn't have any sort of religious background- Grew up in an atheist family and all that. We're thinking that she may have some sort of visions, as she kept describing battles that haven't happened yet."

"Huh," Martin says helpfully, still wondering about the shifting part. They're not easy to come by - Baki's really the only one he's met in person, and he's only heard about a few others. "But you locked her up? For what? Having a certain type of magic?"

"She got out of hand," Muran says sternly, which Martin rolls his eyes at. 

"You'll lock up anything that isn't an angel, human, or halfie," Martin mutters, and when Muran glares at him he pretends to be invested in his food.

"No, at this point she's facing seven attempted murders on our police force, eight more that are now deceased, three charges of voluntary manslaughter of innocents, too many fines for property damage to count, and also-"

"I get it." Martin shoves his plate away, leaning back. "Why wasn't the alarm raised? It used to go off when something happened in a fuckin' ten-mile radius."

Muran glares at him over the papers, then shakes his head, ignoring the question.

"So she's insane." Getting back to the original topic, Martin leans forward, forearms on the table. He taps the side of his hand against the tablecloth. "Went batshit. Surely, you won't kill her for losing control of her mental health, and subsequently her magic? Other people have done worse when they lose control, and you don't kill them."

"Under these circumstances, I don't believe it matters. She's a Shifter and has lied about having magic for her entire life. Martin, this isn't just about the loss of control. Her parents forged papers and she's lived this... _lie_ of being magicless, and so many other things-" Muran stops, and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to get her executed. She can't, and won't, stand trial, and there are too many witnesses to even try to prove innocence, insane or not, she killed people, and you know how things work here."

"But that's not fair. Are you even going to look into the whole 'seeing things' she was talking about?" Martin sits forward, gesturing wildly. "What about that? A _war_? It's possible, isn't it?"

He knows better. Muran, however, does not. "No. While you hold your... position, in the west, there shouldn't be any sort of war starting anytime soon. Correct?"

"That sounds accusatory." Martin hunches his shoulders, trying not to let his wings rattle. "Why the fuck would _I_ start a war?"

Muran stares at him for a long, hard second, then shuts his eyes. "You have to think about what you say, Lazarus. You can't just say shit like that, especially considering the circumstances-"

"You're my brother!" Martin shouts, raising his hands and looking around him with exaggeration. "Who the fuck is here? The servants have sworn an oath, nobody else is awake, it's only you taking my words for what they don't _actually_ mean."

"I know you never got that," Muran continues, raising his hand for silence. "But the language of the court isn't something to-"

"Fuck the court! I go by different rules, anyway!" Not really. Martin knows how speaking a certain way among officials is. But he's already intent on changing that. Not _everything_ has to be taken literally, not _everything_ has to be backstabbing and lies. And he tells Muran this, fist hitting the table several times throughout the rant. "It just doesn't make sense!" he continues, "I just think that- We're all fucked and in this together, right? Why make it harder on ourselves? If someone has a problem with me, they should just come and _tell _me-"

"And that's why you wouldn't be King!" Muran says, standing, "This is why you would make a poor Judge, as well. You are too hotheaded, you hold no sense of honest _pride_ in our family, and the country-"

Martin stands as well, his chair tipping back and hitting the ground. "Fuck that! I didn't want to be any of that in the first place. I'm _good_ at this, Muran, I don't need to be so up my own fucking _ass_ like I have to be here. I'm going to change shit over in the west, you'll fucking _see_."

Muran stares at him, a strangled growl in his throat. He shuts his eyes, turning his head for a moment to take a deep breath and sigh out. King aside, Muran is every bit his original position. A Judge holds no opinion, and has to remain calm at all cost. Emotion cannot taint their decisions. All shit that _Martin_ learned. Let the King be bloodthirsty, and let the Judge decide people's fates.

"Let me talk to her," Martin says suddenly, surprising both himself and Muran.

"The Shifter? Lazarus, I can't let you do that-"

"Let me. Talk to her."

It's at that point that Nitram comes into the dining room, halting immediately when he notices the tension in the room. He gives Martin a questioning look, reading his body language within a moment. "Who is her?" he asks, coming to stand by Martin's side.

Figuring he might be outmatched with the _both_ of them, Muran frowns and takes a step away from the situation. "I will think about it-"

"There's a Shifter," Martin says quickly, knowing he can't let this conversation slide, or she'll be dead by the time he finally gets Muran roped into another argument. "She freaked. Something about having visions about a war, Nitram."

And Nitram looks startled - as anybody should - but Martin can read the question in his eyes. He stares at him evenly, a silent _yes_ in answer. Continuing, having only let a beat pass, Martin says, "Muran's going to kill her. She went batshit, and couldn't control her magic."

He knows it's hopeless. He knows that he can't change her fate. Muran has already made his decision, even if he has to jump a few hurdles to get her in front of a firing squad. But the civilians will be gunning for her head, and she won't ever be able to live a normal... An idea strikes him, then, but then he hesitates. He can't just _force_ her to immigrate- And he would have no lie to tell when the other Generals ask why he brought her back with him. But he _knows_ Baki would be able to help. Hell, that man has to have control over his magic, to have played the facade of doctor for so long.

Nitram seems to know what he's thinking, and the twitch of his eyebrow says _It won't work_.

Sighing, Martin looks across the table at Muran, scowling. "At least let me talk to her. Just... I can't convince you, but I want to talk to her."

"I think I would like to, as well," Nitram says suddenly. "If we are to be taking up our previous positions- At least, if I am to do so- then I think the experience would be beneficial."

Martin almost laughs at Muran's face. Nitram always was one to be better at the court's tongue and intricacies. Nitram isn't exactly promising to take up his role as heir again, with that big fucking _if_ in there, but it's better than nothing.

"Fine," Muran says, relenting. "We'll leave in an hour."

[...]

There is a shape moving in the cell, lurching side to side. Chains drag and rattle, clanking against the concrete floor. 

Martin vividly remembers his first meeting with Pakka. "I'm going in there."

"No," Muran says, but Martin is already pressing his magic against the lock, and added with a little bit of Aza's, he steps into the cell with Nitram right after him. The door slams shut behind them. The figure turns, and her eyes are glowing a vivid, burnt red. She snarls and lunges, falling only a few inches short of ripping them to shreds, thanks to the chains.

Howling, she returns to pacing. Whatever form she's in now doesn't have the room to really move around in the small cell, but she still tries to shuffle around.

"My name's Martin and my brother here is Nitram," he says, reaching back- slowly- to pop one of his wings out. Nitram glances at him, startled, then copies him, removing his wing. The noise attracts her attention, and she falls still as he takes the second one off. Laying them aside, ignoring Muran's startled hiss, he slowly sits down on the concrete. "Yours?"

A low growl, and then she shifts to lay on the ground, staring at Nitram until he, too, sits down. Martin lights a flickering ball of light - nothing that gives off heat, and nothing dangerous. A simple spell he learned when he was a kid. With the light finally washed over her form, he can take it in.

Actual wings - ones that are of webbing and bone - lay sprawled about her, blood smeared over them from various wounds. Her neck is long, feathers and fur bristling about it, and a scowling human face sits at the end of it, long ears pinned back in fright. "What does it matter," she hisses, words slipping over too-sharp teeth with a horrible lisp. Three forked tongues flick out at once, tasting the air. She is favoring her right side, leaning most of her weight away from the left, where wounds scatter what he can see of her body. She doesn't look anything like a person anymore. She looks like some sort of animal.

"It matters," Martin says. He waits. Nitram glances at him, then back at her and says, "It does. Names are important, after all. They're what separate us from monsters."

Growing uncomfortable, her form twists, bones jutting out where they previously haven't been. "Nothing matters anymore. The world will die," she says, "I've seen it. Everything will go away in blood and fire."

"Do you have visions like this often?" Nitram asks. Open expression, hands held loosely on his knees. He makes sure to not seem threatening. She peers at them, head twisting like an owl's. 

"Yes," she eventually says, "Every night. I see them when I am awake now, too."

Martin nods slowly. "Anything specific?"

"Other than the world ending?" she hisses, and she almost laughs, deep in her barrel of a chest. Claws scrape along the floor as she shifts. One of her arms is limp, still bleeding blue. "... Sometimes. A woman, and- deathbell. And angels coming back to life from the dead. Twisted beyond repair, and... A necromancer. I never see his face. But he's young."

Martin doesn't know of any...

Dread settles in his stomach, and he gives Nitram a glance. His brother's eyes are wide, and he quickly shakes his head. There's no way. Seto doesn't even know how to use his magic- Hell, Martin isn't even sure what magic he _has_. God, they need to start figuring that out.

"They will kill me," the beast rumbles. Martin turns back to her. He shuts his eyes and nods. She sighs, chains rattling as she finally lays her head down. "It is inhumane. The way they will do it. They will put me down like a _dog_."

"I'm sorry," Martin supplies, but he knows it's not enough. 

"It's your brother who will do it," she says, growling low. Martin nods again.

"I'm not apologizing for him. He won't ever do it himself, but... _I'm_ sorry, that things are like this. I'm sorry I can't help you."

"This isn't right," Nitram says, and it seems to be mostly to himself. She lets out a groan and puts a paw over the back of her head.

She seems to be thinking, but her face is emotionless. The silence stretches on for a moment, and Martin hears Muran move to open the door. Martin reaches _inside_, and yanks Aza's magic out, shoving a barrier up so that nobody else can get in. He hears Muran pounding on it, shouting, but the words are muffled. Martin throws up an extra sound-proofing spell just in case.

"I have visions too," he lies. Nitram frowns at him. He doesn't have visions- He gets information from Aza, almost the exact source. Sure, it's cryptic, and not all put together, but he knows some things. "I know there's a war coming. I'm training for it, right now. Nitram is too."

She lifts her head, looking away as she says, "I wanted to help."

Martin is silent. When she finally turns to face them, she looks a little less animal, the fur falling out in clumps. Tears build in her eyes. "My name's Cadance. I... I wanted to tell everyone about what will happen. Nobody else would believe me. They think I'm crazy. I couldn't take it anymore."

"I believe you," Martin says. She nods, slowly, and the bat wings are shriveling, regressing back into her body. "I don't think you're an animal. I think you're a person, and... I know another Shifter, over in the west. He's a doctor, actually. He made a cure for deathbell."

"There will be no cure," she says, and he frowns. That doesn't sound right. But then she shifts, as if brushing that off, and says, "Another Shifter... I thought I was the only one."

When she looks at them, Martin realizes that her eyes have... something missing in them. Or maybe, it's something extra. Fever-touched, almost delirious. That's when he remembers that seers don't normally have irises or pupils. They're normally blind, without any color to their eyes. But hers- Hers aren't like that.

Nitram seems to be at the same conclusion, because he leans forward. "Is there anything else you can tell us, Cadance? About the war?"

Cadance is silent for a long, long time. Then she says, as her form twists back into something almost angel, "It's not between the west and east, I can tell you that. I... suppose that's why nobody will believe me. Who else is there to fight? Angels have been fighting since before anyone can remember, but... It's not _us_. It's not- It's-"

She groans, feathers bristling out along her spine, and starts to lose her humanlike attributes as she tries to put her words together. "It's okay." Nitram steps in quickly, halting the regression. "Take your time."

She stares for a moment, then takes a shuddering breath. With it, more of the feathers fall out. "It's not... _our_ kind of angel. I... I don't think. I don't know, I don't..."

She's looking more feverish. Her words are slurring more, despite her fangs receding into her gums. She keeps rambling, her words almost gibberish until finally, they're staring at just... a girl. Sitting on the floor, hunched in on herself, arms wrapping around her middle. "I don't feel good," she says, quietly, and Martin hands the ball of light to Nitram. He quietly gets up, tugging his coat off to drape it over her shoulders. 

Cadance is silent, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I wanna see my mom and dad," she whispers. Martin realizes, then, that she's so _young_. He takes a hesitant step back. "We'll... We'll, uh, try to get them here, if you want."

"No," she says with a cry, looking up at him. "I don't want- I don't want them to see me like this. I just... I don't want to die. I didn't... I didn't _mean_ to do that stuff, I just..."

Martin glances over at Nitram, helpless. His eyes drift over to Muran, still standing at the door, looking angry beyond words. Martin scowls at him, gesturing at Cadance and dropping most of the barrier. "She's just a girl, Muran! You didn't say anything about her being a fucking _fledgling_!"

Cadance flinches at his words, pulling the jacket further around her. Martin turns back, at a loss for what to say. She's probably around Seto's age, now that he looks, and the image of the kid being in her position lights up in his mind. Seto's a necromancer. Seto has illegal magic, too, and that's _nothing_ he can help. Ethan, as well-

"Are you sure you don't want to see your parents?" Nitram asks, gently. Martin slides the barrier back into place, locking the soundproofing in again as well. He starts pacing, trying to think of- of _someway,_ he could help her. Nothing comes to mind. He wouldn't be able to break her out without starting shit and making everything worse. He has to fight a war soon, and he can't be watching over _another_ kid.

"I..." Cadance glances between the two. "Would you really be able to get them here? Would they be able to come inside the cell?"

"I can't promise the latter," Nitram says, softly, "But I can get them here so you can see them."

"... Can I have some clothes? Mine... I guess shifting didn't really work out with that." She laughs lightly, but it's pained. Martin turns, looking at the visible injuries. They only seem worse, now that she's back to looking normal. He kneels down, offering a hand with green glowing in his palm. She hesitates, but takes his hand, and closes her eyes as the magic fixes most of the major injuries. 

"We'll get you some," Nitram promises, watching them. Martin glances back at him, silently pleading for him to think of something as well. But Nitram shakes his head. He doesn't have any ideas, either. 

This girl is going to die.

Martin gets up to sit back down next to Nitram, staring at the chains still attached to her. Some are too big, some are too tight. She shifts uncomfortably, eyes downcast. There's still that... _something_ in the irises that tell of something other than just shifting magic. Something burning there, something that tells him he doesn't have the full story.

"I'm sorry we can't help you more," Nitram says, and Martin hears the underlying _I think we need to go, Martin_. 

Martin sighs and nods, getting to his feet. Nitram stands as well and goes forward, magic swirling around his palms as he pries open the tighter chains. She rubs where they'd been - right above her knees and elbows - and smiles gratefully at them. "Thank you," Cadancewhispers and looks so, so young.

[...]

08-17-47328

"What's going on?"

Martin whirls around, quickly moving to block Seto's view. "Why are you here? I told you to stay inside."

"Inside was boring- Who's that? Why is..." Realization sinks in and Seto looks up at him, startled. "They're executing her? But she's-"

Nitram comes up alongside Martin, sufficiently blocking Seto's view. "Look, you're not supposed to be here. Come on, I'll bring you back to the palace."

"No! What's going on?"

"She-" Martin shares a glance with Nitram, then looks over his shoulder. Cadance stands up on the raised platform, chains wrapped liberally on her limbs and around her neck. She's crying, burning eyes red, but she's silent. Muran had the sense for it to not be a firing squad. But now the executioner is to her side, almost out of her view. He stands motionless, more so than even a statue, rifle held in a standby position. Martin's seen the man before when he'd been young, and he had always been someone that seemed like a good guy. Martin hadn't even _known_ what his job was, but-

"She's just a girl," Seto protests, and a handful of people look over at his raised voice. Muran, still sitting upon the Judge's seat, glares over at them. Cadance's mother, who'd been almost inconsolable for the most part, wails. Martin swallows thickly and crouches slightly to Seto's eye level. "There's nothing we can do, Seto, I need you to go back inside. Now."

Seto's wings rattle and he glares fiercely at Martin. "Why is she up there?"

"She's a Shifter," someone grunts, and both Nitram and Martin glare at him. Seeming to realize who he's talking to, he bows quickly and rushes to disappear into the growing crowd. 

"But- But Ba-"

"Not here," Martin hisses, and glances around. "Seto, not-"

Muran stands, then, clearing his throat. "Cadance Leclair, you are found guilty of eleven charges of voluntary manslaughter. Their names are as follows..."

Seto falls silent, watching with wide eyes. Martin finally stands up, knowing he cannot interrupt the judgment at this point. Not even to take Seto away from it. "Don't look," he says quietly.

"-Seven charges of attempted murder on my police force. Four of those are in critical condition. You have kept your magic a secret and have forged legal documents. The fraud will go to your parents, as you are still a minor by law. You have-"

"Won't he stop?" Seto asks, quietly, almost cowering behind Martin. Cadance looks over the crowd, spotting her parents and mouthing something. Martin politely looks away, though he can guess what she's trying to tell them. "He- He has to stop."

Muran doesn't. The list goes on, and on, and Martin feels his heart sinking with each word.

"- and therefore, I hereby give you your sentence. Cadance Leclair, you will be publicly executed by a single shot. You are allowed your last words. Do you have anything you wish to say?"

Cadance takes a shaky breath. Seto's clutching at Martin's shirt, wings rattling uncontrollably. Martin finally looks up at her, meeting her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says. And then is silent.

"... Very well," Muran says, and the hammer slams down.

Martin turns, shielding Seto's eyes as the crack of the gun goes off. 

[...]

Martin stares down at the letter on his desk, chest hollow with fatigue. He glances back at Nitram, quietly raising the paper. Seto had excused himself to bed the moment they returned to their room and is still lying there several hours later.

Nitram sighs quietly and gets up, coming over. He takes the letter, glancing over it before sighing again. "Really? Now?"

"They go by their own schedule," Martin mutters, looking back at the letter. He... honestly isn't sure if it's Aza's writing or not. It isn't signed and seems just a bit... _off_ compared to the other notes. He shrugs it off, motioning for Nitram to get ready. He'd rather train during the day, now, since Nitram needs to start catching up. Going to pull his own wings into their sockets, he calls out to Seto, "Hey, kiddo?"

A groan answers him.

"We're, uh... We're gonna head out. You want us to send someone in with food?"

"No," Seto says, curling further in on himself. Martin shares a worried glance with Nitram. Deciding he'll talk to Seto later, when he gets this whole god shit out of the way, he quickly bids him goodbye and they leave.

The flight out to the specified island is quiet, with the wind whistling over their feathers being the only sound.

Up until Nitram says, "You know we couldn't have done anything, Martin."

"I know. I just forgot how cruel... everything was." And that's his fault. He had hated growing up here, but now he's remembering all the things that _made_ him hate it. She's a Shifter- Fucking who cares? Every kid loses control of their magic- And knowing what he knows, he doesn't _blame_ her. Normal seers with future-sight magic don't see things so far in advance. The most skilled can only see a few days ahead on a good day. They don't see the end of the world, they don't see oncoming wars until those wars are at their doorstep, they don't see the plans made by _gods_.

He wants to say that it isn't fair. He wants to rant and scream and rage until he's too tired to keep his eyes open. But he can't. He really, really can't.

Silently, they alight down in a field. Martin paces around for a bit, before deciding that here is as good as any.

"You're sure he's going to show up?"

At this, Martin shrugs. He'd woken up to a note on his desk this morning, telling him to find a secluded spot during the day. A somewhat strange request, as normally Aza likes training during the day. Something about being able to see the sigils better when it's dark, but Martin personally just thinks he's paranoid. 

Nitram continues with, "Aza didn't sign that. You said he normally does."

"I don't know, Nitram." And he really doesn't. The letter had been strange, considering the others he'd gotten before. Aza normally let him know when he'd show, even if he didn't always hold up to the time standards he sets. Plus, Aza isn't even _here_. That's definitely strange, as usually, he complains of Martin being late. "All we can really do is wait-"

"No need."

The two of them spin to the right, where- Martin inwardly groans, taking a few steps back to stand next to Nitram. "We, uh..." He doesn't want to speak to the thing standing in front of him, and he's not sure if it's- Julen or Valius, but he really doesn't care. Today has already been shitty enough, he doesn't need to deal with one of the actual _gods_. At this point, he'd prefer if it were Aza standing there. "We thought it would be Aza."

"Aza's throwing a hissy fit. I'll be taking over for the next few... days, I suppose." The god doesn't move, doesn't _breathe_, and he still has no face that Martin can really comprehend and Martin doesn't know if he'll be able to train with it watching him, anyway.

An awkward silence settles over the three of them. Nitram shifts on his feet. It's Martin that grows the balls to ask, "Can you at least have a face?"

"Oh. Right." And then he does. They watch in horror as it morphs for a moment, filtering over a few different features before settling on what it deems good enough. Shaking his head and shoulders, as if loosening up, he says, "Martin, I want you to go on with what you've learned. And Nitram, please come here."

There's a brand in the god's hand suddenly and the two of them go backing up further. "There's gotta be a less painful way to do that," Nitram says, voice shaking. And Martin _knows_ there is, because all of his sigils are tattoos. "Aza normally just tattoos them on-"

"This is faster, though." And the god sounds genuinely confused. He shakes his head. "Anyway, come here, please."

"I'd rather not," Nitram says, still backing up.

"If I promise it will be painless, will you?"

"You can't just- Blip them on or something?" Martin suggests, and the god sighs heavily and rubs his temple. After a long moment, he groans and then the branding iron flashes away. "Fine, fine, but if something fucks up, then that's not on me."

The twins share a worried glance, and then Nitram cautiously goes forward. He gasps and suddenly staggers to the side. Catching him quickly, Martin chances a glare towards the god, then looks over at his brother. "You good?"

"Yeah- Yeah, I, uh-" Nitram clutches his shirt, then pulls the collar away and glances down, where the sigils are most likely plastered over his skin. "Fucking hell."

And, again, Martin sends a glare at the god. He shrugs. "What? You said you wanted me to blip them on. It's not just a tattoo, you know, I just forced magic into your body that shouldn't be there in the first place."

"Then why- Then why do we need it in the first place?" Martin growls, wings rattling as Nitram stands upright again. Glancing at him to make sure he's alright, Martin turns back to the god. "Why? Whatever's coming, we can just- _Deal_ with it, you know? Why do we need this fucking magic if it's not even ours? Look, I'm not-"

"I really, really hope you aren't trying to argue with me." The god's face blinks away and Martin retreats, raising his hands up as if to show he's unarmed. "Sorry," he mutters, if a bit sarcastic. "I just... I barely know anything, other than whatever it is, it's too powerful for just our magic. But I'm General of the west and a Prince of the east. Don't you think that _I_ don't have to be the only one to handle it? If it's just another war, then-"

"You would like to know," the god says, blankly, and Martin struggles for words.

Nitram's hand rests on his shoulder a moment later and he gathers the courage to say, "Yeah. I would really like to fucking know."

The god opens his eyes and shifts, finally, moving for the first time in a few minutes. It glances down at the ground, then the sky, then back at the two of them and says, "Well. Right now, the west is being ravaged by a plague, and about twenty percent of the population has already died. Including three of your Generals, Martin, and it is spreading to the Ground, and infecting humans by the handful every other minute. Now, twenty percent may not seem like that big of a number, until you realize how _small_ this planet's population actually is. This planet has a total of about two billion sapient peoples, including angels, humans, dragons, and those of Xanteigo. Not even _half_ of that makes up the west's population."

A _plague_. Martin knows that deathbell had been an upcoming problem, but- But there's a _cure_ for that, unless- Unless it's something else Baki can't...

_"There will be no cure."_ And Cadance was right. Oh, _fuck, _she was right.

"To put it- Incredibly simply - the death toll is almost up in the two-hundred thousands. _Almost_. Now that you know that, and now that you know what sort of danger you'll be facing, the woman who started all this- She knows things. She knows how to worm her way in, and this is her work. She's in the west-"

"So we have to go there," Nitram says, taking a step forward, "If it's that bad, we have to go and help- We're doing fuck all here, anyway, and we were going to-"

"No. You'll wait until it's obvious you have to go back. You'll know when it happens." The god waves a dismissive hand, as if shrugging off a conversation that's far, far lighter than the one they're having. "Anyway. Martin, like I said, go and train. Aza is still working with offensive techniques with you, so do that. Nitram, I'll teach you the basics for now."

"But we have to go!" Martin says, already tensing to leap into the air. "If everyone's dying like that-"

"I _said_, Martin," and thunder rattles in the god's words, "That you will continue your training. I'm not your older brother. I am your God. Do what you're told."

Reluctantly, Martin takes a step back, then growls and paces away, fury blooming the sigils off his palms and striking the air with fire. It whisks around him in an almost-perfect form, twirling and dissipating at an invisible target. He flourishes again, electricity crackling and striking the ground ahead of him. As he spins into another form, he gets a glimpse of Nitram trying to light a candle.

After almost an hour passes, Martin slows, and comes to a halt, breathing raggedly. He turns to find Nitram holding a flame in his palm, looking about as miserable as Martin feels. 

Martin had pulled his shirt off about a half-hour into the training, and now he grabs it off the ground to mop the sweat off his face. 

"What are you doing?" the god asks, taking notice of him. "I didn't tell you to stop."

"It's been an hour," Martin points out, leaning on his knees. He swallows past a dry tongue and waves a hand almost dismissively. "Isn't that good enough?"

"No. Continue."

Against his own will, Martin stands up and falls into a starting stance, but he quickly shakes his head and sidesteps. "No, I-"

"Go on."

And then something is urging him on, something pulling somewhere in his chest, and he almost has no choice but to move, and bring the magic out from within, and then he's spinning, and dancing, and the magic flickers and grows strong around him.

When he's nearly about to collapse, the god calls it off, and Martin staggers away, feeling like he'd been possessed. Sitting down on the grass, and realizing there _is_ no grass anymore, from the backlash of the magic, he heaves for air and looks helplessly toward Nitram and the god.

"That was adequate," it says simply, and Martin realizes it must have forgotten to have a face sometime when he'd been training. Nitram's hands and arms are burned, tinged red with blisters. He tiredly goes toward Martin, but the god holds up a hand. "No, there is no time to waste for you. Martin, you have a thirty-minute break, then start with defense. I'm sure Aza's shown you some things, just build off of that. Be... inventive. Nitram, come back here."

Nitram groans, but turns around and plods back toward the god. He stands there, almost defeated in his posture, then slides into the stance Martin had first learned.

And Martin sits there, thinking that the god might work them until they die, and he watches Nitram start to - shakily - dredge magic from inside and out into the air.

[...]

"Aza isn't that bad, right?" Nitram asks, three hours after sunset, when the god has finally gone. Martin, lying prone on the ground, just groans. Nitram takes that as an answer and slumps back to laying on his side. A bruise is blossoming over one arm where one of Martin's forcefields had accidentally interrupted, and Martin can see burns crisscrossing over Nitram's arms and torso. If Martin weren't so exhausted, he'd get up and heal those over, but as it stands now, he isn't sure he'll be able to fly home.

After finally, _finally_, catching his breath, Martin heaves himself into a sitting position, still half-slumped, and says, "No, no, Aza... Aza at least knows we're mortal."

"I feel like that thing was just pissed off. It was Valius, you said?"

"That or Julen. Who fucking knows? One of the two." Martin tiredly rubs his eyes, nearly falling asleep like that. It's only when Nitram reaches over and shakes his arm, thus taking away the support he had for his head, does Martin sit upright. 

"Not again," Martin says, quietly, seeing Aza standing near the edge of the field, studying the marks on the ground. 

"We could probably run," Nitram says, sitting up. "I'm not as tired, I can carry you if I have to."

Martin just wordlessly shakes his head, pretty sure he won't even be able to stand up. Every muscle is aching, and he can barely move his arms. He checks the sky. There's no telling how long they've been laying here, but that training- _torture_ session must have lasted somewhere around six hours. 

It's then Aza finally notices them. He looks startled for a moment and comes over. "You two are early. What the hell happened here?"

Martin squints at him, then shuts his eyes and waves a hand. "Your husband happened. I think."

Aza frowns and looks around, then back at them. "What do you mean?"

"You sent him after us?" Nitram seems to try and put this as a statement, but it doesn't work. "He said he'd be training us for the next few days. We just- We just spent almost seven hours. Look, if you came to fuck us over more, then I-"

"Oh, god damn it," Aza grumbles, turning away and pulling out his phone. Martin catches Nitram's eye and shrugs. They both try to listen in to the conversation, but Aza speaks in another language entirely. One that they don't know, which is honestly surprising. But whatever Aza is saying, he sounds _pissed_, which probably doesn't bode well for them. After a long few minutes of berating the person on the other line, Aza sighs and pauses then makes a few noises that Martin can only _guess_ mean 'Yeah' or 'Okay'.

Finally, he ends the call and turns to them, looking at each of them for a long moment. "Well, Martin, I believe you've already met Julen. Nitram, it's good of you to meet him, as well. Fucking... _god_, why can't they just _communicate_?"

Aza rubs his eyes, then waves a hand and the next breath Martin takes is easier. He glances at Nitram to find the burns gone. "Julen doesn't deal with mortals as much," Aza says, "Val does, so he's normally... more gentle, with them. I am sorry about that."

"He said you were throwing a hissy fit," Martin deadpans, taking Nitram's hand to get to his feet. He shakes his wings out and goes to collect his shirt from the ground. It's burned pretty badly, but it's better than nothing. 

"I wasn't. He just likes to blow things out of proportion."

"So I guess the whole plague thing over in the west is just a scare tactic?" Nitram asks, almost hopeful. But Aza's demeanor falls. 

"Oh, he... told you about that. Well, no, it's... not a scare tactic."

"Fucking- great." Martin feels like screaming. "So everyone over there is just dying, while we fool around over here?"

"You're not ready to fight yet," Aza says. But he casts a second glance at the damage Martin did to the field. "Not ready enough, anyway. And... Look, you won't be here long. Spend some time with your family while you can."

Martin thinks that's supposed to be comforting, but it does nothing for his gut sinking even further. "What does that mean?"

And Aza looks at him for a long, long moment, then shakes his head. "Nothing. It might be a while before you're able to, is what I mean."

"How long are we talking?"

But Aza just remains silent. For a long moment, he stares at the two of them, then shakes his head. "I can't tell you that-"

"Then can you tell us about that seer? The one who _died_ today?"

At this, Aza looks confused. "Seer?"

"Yeah- Cadance," Martin hisses, "The girl who saw what would happen."

"Oh." Aza blinks. "Our prophet. Yes, they, uh... usually die at a young age. It's planned."

"Planned?" Nitram echoes, voicing Martin's own horror. "You mean to say that..."

Aza shifts uncomfortably, looking away. "There's always at least one prophet. A new one was born today, and he'll live into his twenties or so before, well..."

"You're kidding me. It's premeditated? The whole thing?" Martin shivers, remembering the poor girl in the cell.

"She was the Shifter, correct?" At their nods, Aza reaches up to rub his temple. "Yeah. It's the, uh, the seventeenth right? Right, yeah, that was planned for today. Shit, I should've been there."

"No- No, it shouldn't have happened at _all_," Martin says, taking a few heavy steps toward Aza. This gets the man's attention, and he slides into a subtle position that owuld allow him to defend. "She was just a kid! She died today because- Because you guys needed a fucking _prophet_? Isn't it enough that I'm here- That Nitram's here? Isn't that enough?"

"It's always been done like this," Aza points out, "You just never knew. The last prophet died in the angelic war, and now this one dies before it. The next will be killed when he's twenty-four, by suicide, and then the next, and the next, and... Look, Martin, I'm not making this plan, don't blame m-"

"I don't want to hear your fucking excuses!" Martin shouts, wings clinking together. "I don't want to hear it! Those people are innocent, and-"

"And innocents die, Martin. Everyone dies. It's something you just have to get used to-"

"She was a kid," Nitram hisses, wings mantling. Martin scowls at Aza, starting to pace. After a moment, he grabs Nitram's shoulder and takes a few backward steps, wings unfurling. "We'll be going," he says, and leaps into the air.

They leave Aza standing down in the field, staring up after them.

[...]

"I think I'm going to tell Muran."

"Tell him what?" Nitram asks, groaning as he sits up in bed. Martin stares up at the ceiling, then reaches up to rub his eyes. It's late - the sun is starting to rise, and he hasn't slept in two days.

"About the war."

"You can't, Martin." Nitram falls back down to the mattress, tugging the blankets around him further. "Go to sleep."

Martin glances over at him, then sighs and looks over to Seto. The kid was asleep by the time they returned. Didn't wake up even if they made a bit too much noise.

Quietly groaning, Martin sits up, rubbing his wrist. The thought had been in his mind since he'd met Cadance. Maybe if he had just said something to Muran then, that whole mess would have been avoided.

Or maybe not. It doesn't seem like he would have been able to interrupt, anyway. Not with such a thought-out plan. Not without _severe_ repercussions. 

Scowling, Martin tosses the blankets off, standing up and stretching. But just _look_ at how the gods' plan is going so far for him! It's not like anything is working out the way they want it, anyway...

Martin glances down at his wrist, tugging up the sleeve to stare at the sigils twining down. And, sure, he doesn't know Aza's language, but he's memorized this sigil. He had stared at it every time Seto looked confused, or troubled. He had tried to rub the ink from his skin whenever Nitram reached for a bottle.

_Terms and agreements_ his ass. He has to do something. He can't just let an entire war slip up to their doorstep without warning. He knows it will happen, and he can _do_ something about this.

But just the _thought_ of talking about it sends pain searing across his skin. Gripping his wrist, he hobbles to the bathroom sink, the residual pain from training still making his feet and spine ache. He leans heavily on the porcelain sink, turning on the cold tap and sticking his wrist under it. The burning lessens but comes back worse when he, again, starts to plan how he'll tell Muran. 

"There is," he hisses, groaning when it _burns_ him. "There is a- a- There's-"

_There is a war coming_, he wants to say, but instead, he collapses on the ground, hissing at the pain. Not only in his wrist, now, but that sigil that Aza had tattooed on his shoulder, preventing him from saying anything too detailed. He hadn't been able to tell _Nitram _anything, and he definitely can't tell Muran.

Maybe he could write it down? If he showed up with a letter and presented it to Muran, that might work. Maybe.

Groaning, he gets up off the floor, staggering to the desk and sitting down heavily. The candles flick on at his bidding, and he squints at the light. His head hurts, right behind his eyes. He needs sleep. He's thirsty, too, but there is just whiskey left in the room. Slowly, he pulls out a piece of paper and a pen, shutting his eyes. 

But he only gets down _There_ before he has to drop the pencil and hunch over, pulling his arm to his stomach in an attempt to lessen the sting. "Come on," he whispers, picking the pen up again. "Come on. I need to."

Shutting his eyes tight, he starts scribbling the words. Writing through the agony in his wrist is nearly impossible. And when he finally gasps and opens his eyes, stopping, he sees the same sigil on his wrist, written down on the paper. The ink starts spreading out into the paper when he sets the pen down. He can't move it, though, hand shaking so badly that he ends up scratching a long line across the paper as he grips his wrist again.

Nitram groans. Looking back, Martin sees him sit up in bed, rubbing his own wrist. "The fuck... Martin? What are you doing?"

"I have to tell him," Martin says, gasping. Sweat trickles down the side of his face and he quickly reaches up to wipe it away. "I have to."

"You can't. What about Seto?" Nitram looks over at the kid, then back to him. "You know what might happen."

"I..." Martin stares at him helplessly, then looks back down to the paper, at the sigil drawn with shaky lines and curves. He gulps and quietly sets the pen down on the desk. "Go back to sleep, Nitram," he mutters. Takes a deep breath. "I won't."

"You better not," Nitram grunts, falling back down to his pillow. Martin slowly gets up from the chair, crumbling the paper up and tossing it into the bin as he does so. He hasn't even been in the east that long, and yet it feels like he's spent years here already, trapped in a cycle of hopelessness. He feels like a hostage, and maybe he is. Trapped with what he knows but unable to say anything about it. It's... a relief to have Nitram in on it, at least. They can share the burden, then.

Finally, Martin sighs and slowly goes back to his bed. He glances to the left at Seto, then to the right at Nitram, and then lays down. They really need to move into their individual rooms soon, but that thought sends anxiety through him. He's scared to let either of them out of his sight. The creeping feeling that something might happen to them hasn't left his mind since... Since...

Shaking his head, Martin lays down on top of the blankets, rolling and shifting until he can get comfortable. He still can't sleep. He can't get his eyes to close.

And by the time the sun is peering in through the windows, he still hadn't managed to even get a minute of peaceful sleep. The alarm between his and Nitram's bed goes off. And Martin sighs, sitting up and turning it off. 

"Another day," he says, "I just need to get through another day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao thanks for reading. review please it helps me stop procrastinating.
> 
> also, i recently uploaded another oneshot (will be a twoshot someday soon), this time about kerberos. go read it. k thx


	10. on matters of family and blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can recall, the first chapter of Glitter and Gold was 'family matters'.

08-19-47328

The mirror reflects the bright lights of his eyes back at him. He pulls on his eyelashes, flinching as he does so, trying to get a better look at the white irises. Nothing's different. And nobody's said anything. But he knows what his magic is - never was able to forget it, not since the day Nitram had first tried to train him on it.

He wonders how long he can go without it. He knows he can use _some_ of his magic. Simple stuff, like for flying and sometimes lighting a candle, but nothing other than that. Nothing like the first time. And he has this... itching, under his skin. Like he has too much energy. He doesn't know the repercussions for not using magic, but he remembers Nitram and Martin talking about not being able to use the full extent of their magic because of the situation. And how horrible it was for them.

And here Seto is, not even _allowed_ to use his magic.

Seto pauses, letting go of his eyelid to stare at himself some more. His horns are strengthening in color, becoming more of a deeper gray. The bases are nearly black. He runs his fingers over them, catching on the ridges. They probably need to be polished down again; it seems to be fairly commonplace here to have smooth horns. His hair has grown out more and he has to tie it back, now. Considering that _also_ seems normal, he probably shouldn't cut it. But it's getting so bothersome, and it whips into his eyes when he's flying...

He glances down at the sink, then leans back and pulls out one of the drawers. There are some scissors, right there. Would anyone be mad? Does it matter? He's already strange enough as it is.

He thinks back to the girl on the stand, thinks about the crimes she'd committed, and thinks about the tears running down her cheeks. Shaking the thoughts quickly from his mind, he glances back at his reflection. He's never seen another angel with eyes like his. And he knows of Baki's magic - has heard Nitram and Martin speak about it before. And, in even quieter tones, he's heard them talk about _his_ magic. He'd heard their conversation about him last night, a little after they came back inside, and had thought him to be dead asleep. Heard the worry and...

Frowning, Seto grabs the scissors. Before he can really think twice, he pulls most of his hair back and starts snipping it away.

A knock at the door interrupts him. "Hey, kid, we gotta go soon, so are you gonna be done in there?"

"Uh-" A glance at the mirror, and at the choppy cut he's halfway done with. "Uh, give me a minute."

Martin sighs on the other side of the door and walks off, grumbling something Seto can't pick out. Returning to the mirror, he starts cutting closer to his head, biting his lip when it starts to turn out bad. "Shit," he mutters, and pulls the drawer open again. Maybe there would be a shaving razor, or... or something, right?

"Fuck," he hisses, when there's nothing there, and then looks back at the mirror. His hair is uneven, and just- Just a mess. "Fuck!"

Another knock at the door. "You okay in there, I-"

Groaning, Seto turns and flings the door open, taking Martin by surprise. He takes a step back, then glances over at him. "Oh, Seto-"

"I know, I know. It was stupid. Can you fix it?"

Martin glances back and ushers Nitram over. After a moment of looking, Nitram sighs and pushes into the bathroom, opening the cupboard under the sink. He pulls out a razor and starts putting it together. "Sit down, Seto," Nitram says, plugging it in. "And tell me if I hit your horns."

"Sorry," he mutters, sitting down on the toilet lid, with his back to them. The razor turns on and he flinches when it hits his head. "Not too short, right?" he asks, worried.

"I'm not going to shave you bald, don't worry." Small clumps of hair fall off as Nitram pulls the razor across. "Where'd those scissors go?"

"Here." Seto hands them back, listening as Nitram snips at the hair around his horns. He flinches when the blades scrape against the base of one and Nitram mutters an apology. "It's not, like, too bad, right? You're not, uh..."

"Angry? No, don't worry. Though I wish you would have picked a better time." Nitram ruffles the remaining hair, brushing clipped pieces out and then stepping back. Seto hears him changing the razor size, and then it starts up again. Seto pulls down one of his ears so Nitram can reach, hesitating when he realizes that it's grown into a finer point than before. Strange. He thinks about it for a moment and then tries to move it, surprised when it flicks, twitching and hitting Nitram's hand. Seto blinks, surprised, and tries moving them again. Nitram pauses then goes on to refine the hairline. "Try not to move too much," he reminds.

A few more minutes pass and then Nitram stands back. "There. Take a quick shower, and meet us outside."

"Where are we even going?" Seto asks, getting up to go to the mirror. It's weird, having that weight suddenly gone, but it doesn't look half bad. Martin calls something, reminding him to be quick, and then he hears the door slide shut. Sighing, Seto goes and turns the water on in the shower, hurrying to catch up.

[...]

"Why are we here?"

"Because, kid," Martin says, pushing the door open and glancing around. Nitram had left them a half-hour ago- something about meeting some Shūrin girl or something - and after making a quick stop at a bank, Martin had led him here. To an optometrist. 

"That's not a good answer," Seto gripes, going inside and glancing around. Rows of glasses, posters of smiling people with brand names plastered over them... Nobody else is inside and he gives a quick glance toward the front, finding that the 'OPEN' sign is flipped over, showing that it's closed. Seto frowns as Martin walks past him. "Martin, this place is closed. And besides- My eyes are fine. Do you need glasses?"

Martin pauses at the desk, hitting the bell twice before turning to Seto. He gives him a long look, then sighs and says, "We... need to do something about the color of your eyes. I know this guy- He helped with an old friend of mine. It's definitely not glasses, anyway."

"Wait, contacts? I don't- I don't really need to wear them, though, right? Nobody's said anything yet, and-"

"Muran did. A couple of days before..." 

And that's enough of an answer. Seto falls quiet, looking around again. 

"There you are." He glances back toward Martin to find a man coming out from the back. He's fairly short, probably around Seto's height, and his hair is entirely gray. He sports his own pair of glasses on a crooked nose, and his hands are wrinkled and crooked. Shaking Martin's hand and introducing himself as Gregory, he says, "So I'm guessing it's for this young man here, right?"

"As far as we know, his vision is alright," Martin says. "It's just the... color."

The man heads around the desk, coming over to Seto. "Ah," he says, turning back to Martin. "What kind of magic? I hope it's not-"

"No, no, nothing like that." Martin quickly waves a hand, dismissing the idea of Seto having necromancing magic. Seto frowns at him but says nothing. "We believe we got it from his... One of his parents. The color probably skipped a few generations, and- Well, you know how it's received nowadays."

"Of course, of course." Gregory waves them into the back room, holding the door open. Martin ducks through, followed by Seto. "So, what color are you thinking?"

"Something similar. Maybe purple? A lavender, maybe."

Oh, so Seto won't even get a say in this? "What about red?" he asks, making the two of them look at him. "Well, I mean, uh-"

"It can't draw too much attention," Martin explains, turning back to Gregory. "He's been seen out in public, but not much, so a subtle change will be best."

Seto grits his teeth, sitting down in the chair Gregory offers. He thought that, since the royal family seemed to be made up of mostly reds and yellows, that red would be a good choice. Besides, he thought it might look good. 

"Blue, maybe? What sort of magic does he have?"

"Oh, simple telekinesis. A few basic elementals- The normal, you know."

"Well, that opens some options up." Gregory goes over to one wall, reaching up for a chord and bringing a row of shelves down. They're mostly filled with jars - all labeled, but Seto can barely make them out form the angle he's sitting at. "Purple is... a choice, but I recommend pale green or blue. Any reason you're leaning toward purple?"

Martin hesitates, then shrugs. "Thought lavender might be closer to... white, than anything else. Less of a change, so fewer people might notice."

Gregory hums and takes down a few glowing bottles. He heads over to a small lab sitting on a counter, tucking one of the bottles into a slot, upside-down, and turning on a machine. "Well, I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a few to try out- No more than a drop in each eye per day, though. We don't want him to go blind, hm?"

"Eyedrops?" Seto questions, but Martin motions for him to be quiet. Gregory glances over at him. "What, you think I was about to supply you with a lifetime of contacts? Hell no- Not for a simple color switch. Color drops are the easiest. A bit more expensive short-term, but not in the long run."

Once the first bottle is drained into the machine, he takes a new container out and starts to drain the glowing purple liquid back into it. "Here's that lavender. If you like it, you can return the others. But again, I highly recommend blue or green. Purple isn't very common, you know."

"I understand that," Martin says, taking the bottle from him. He swishes it, watching it swirl, and settle, losing its glow. "How long does it take the color to wear out?"

"Eh, a week or so after you stop with the eye drops. Now, need I remind you, there could be some side effects." Gregory pours another colorless bottle into the machine. The color that comes out is pale blue but it strengthens in color as it rests. Martin takes that as well. "You know, some burning is normal. But if it gets too bad that you can't see past the tears," this Gregory directs at Seto, "Flush your eyes and stop putting them in. Come to me if that happens."

"What are the chances of blindness?"

"Not too high, unless you use too much of a dose. I've never had a complaint that's my fault." He hands the final bottle, a nice green, to Martin and starts heading back to the front. Martin tags along, gesturing Seto after him. "Right, now that'll be..."

Gregory types a few things into the register. Martin waits patiently, but as the numbers pop up on the screen they can see, Seto pales. Almost a thousand- _for one bottle_? "Martin, I-"

"Mm-mm, no." Martin happily writes the check, hands it to Gregory, and then they're on their way, with the bottles wrapped in bubble wrap, sitting innocently in a small bag. "Purple, first?"

"... I guess."

[...]

09-01-47328

It's a few days after he started the eyedrops, does Muran notice. He startles, for a moment, and stares, very hard, at Seto. The chopsticks are still halfway raised to his mouth. He sets them down in the bowl and sits up straighter. "Who do you remind me of?"

Seto frowns, glancing at Martin, and then Nitram. "Uh..."

Martin stays silent. Muran frowns, then glances at Micah. "Who does he look like? You aren't western, but-"

Micah looks up, squinting at him. After a long moment, he looks confused, too. "Is it the eyes?"

Seto wishes he could just close them, without being rude. The purple never showed through like he thought it would. Instead, it turned his eyes silver - almost like a human's, but still glittering with magic. He starts bobbing his knee up and down, resisting the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt. "Uh... My mom was eastern?" he provides, and suddenly Kaitah speaks up from the head of the table. She starts going on some tangent that isn't related, distracting everybody from the topic. 

When Seto meets her eyes, halfway through her rant, she _winks_. He blinks, surprised, then offers a small smile in return. He should probably start to get to know her. It just seems that she only ever appears for meals, or maybe to knit in the lounge room. 

But, suddenly, Muran sits up straight. "Elk Grove Academy- The, uh, island cluster nearby is Astrakane. You're from that area, right?"

"No... No, I'm from..." Seto trails off, puzzled. He remembers the hospital, and his mom, and he remembers Martin and Nitram taking him in, but before that is... fuzzy. Some memories click - an accident, and a stuffed dog, and some sort of handheld game, or... But it's all fuzzy. It's like someone started to write a story, but didn't put any effort into finishing it or putting in details. "My mom was from the east," he finally says, "But I didn't grow up here."

"We've been meaning to ask," Martin finally speaks up, but he seems hesitant. Seto frowns at him. "About her."

"What's her name?" Micah inquires, tapping his fingers on the table. He looks intrigued - like some sort of puzzle was set in front of him. "He does look familiar, Muran, but I just don't get who he reminds me of..."

"Alikye?" Martin suggests, and Kaitah jumps in her seat.

"Oh! That family!" she gasps.

Seto looks at her, wide-eyed. "What do you mean, that family?"

"Oh, I knew them. Nice folks, but too big of a family if you ask me." She continues eating, but seems worried about something. 

"Big family?" Seto echoes, and feels like he's a bit faint. Muran looks at him, then nods. "Yeah, I can see it. The horns, especially- Weren't your eyes lighter?"

"Her name was Kerberos," Martin says, bowling over Muran's questioning. "With everything happening recently, though, it's just... slipped my mind."

Nitram looks guilty. Why does he look guilty? "Ah, is this the place for this sort of conversation? Perhaps you have their contact or something to get ahold of them later, Muran, but we are at dinner..."

"Oh, definitely. One of the ones I employed from that family went AWOL some years back-" And Muran pauses, and everyone pauses, and it is so quiet. Finally, Muran says, "Oh... Yes, let me get ahold of them."

He stands abruptly and leaves. They all stare after him. It's Seto that rises first, driven by something inside, telling him he has to go after him. Martin reaches for him, but he brushes past, hurrying after Muran.

After a bit of searching, and stopping several servants to ask if they'd seen Muran - not like they even said anything, just pointed him in a general direction - he finds him. Seto has the sense to knock on the open office door, and he hears a hushed, "Come in."

Peering in, Seto glances around the room, finding Muran on the phone, standing by one of the file cabinets. He gestures for Seto to wait. "Yes, I was hoping to get in contact with them... Ah, It's King Micah, I... yes, Yes. Thank you."

He looks worried. It's like how Martin looks when he's concerned about something. Seto notices the tension to his brow and the very obvious facade of a blank face. Someone comes up behind him, suddenly, and a hand settles on his shoulder. Seto looks up at Martin. He's about to say something when-

"Yes, I believe so. I would not be able to be there, but Lazarus and Seto can be... Oh, yes, I suppose. I will have to speak to them, though." He glances over at them, gaze searching each of their faces. "If you have a moment, I need to put you on hold... Thank you."

He taps the screen and sighs. "Well, Seto," he says, and his tone suddenly loses the pleasantness, "It looks like you are not heir after all."

"What do you mean?" It's Martin who speaks. His grip tightens on Seto's shoulder. Muran frowns at him, then rubs his temple, tiredly. "The family is all alive and well, no recent passings since... your mother."

"Can I meet them?" Martin flinches at this, looking down at him. Seto doesn't meet his eyes. "What time?"

"I could lend you an escort if Lazarus cannot come with you, but they would happily meet you tomorrow." 

At this, Martin's hand pulls away. Seto glances over his shoulder, watching him leave. "What... What's wrong?"

He isn't stupid. He can pick up on the mood of the situation. Shouldn't it be happy? Shouldn't Martin be happy for him, that he's found his actual family?

Muran stares after his brother, then sighs, "Considering that you are of their blood, they have more of a say in court."

"In court?"

"You are still a minor, Seto, yes?"

"I- Yeah, I'm eighteen." He thinks. That's fuzzy, for some reason. He is only eighteen, right? "But- What do you mean in court?"

"They can fight for custody. I don't handle those such hearings, so they would have a very good chance at taking you in." Muran obviously feels awkward, explaining this. He shifts, glancing down at the phone. "Would you like to meet them tomorrow?"

"Can I come back here?"

"Of course. Unless they go to court and win, Martin is still your father. Here, I'll let them know you can meet them. Like I said, Seto, I'll set up an escort for you, since... Well." Muran returns to the phone, and his tone instantly changes to something lighter, to something a bit more formal. Seto watches, listening as he sets up the time, and for some reason, something in his chest is twisting, but another part of him is elated beyond words.

[...]

09-02-47328

"You don't have to stay," he assures, stepping awkwardly from foot to foot. The escort - guard, more like - just watches him through her helmet. She's standing at attention, one hand on her sword, the other held rigidly by her side. "I- I don't need a guard, I'm sure- I'm sure nothing bad will happen."

He had _only_ wanted an escort to get here. Here, being the island they're at the edge of. He'd landed to collect himself, if only for a moment, and then had tried to get the guard to leave. It's a beautiful island - not as forested as he's used to. There are many fields of rice, and in the distance, up the slope of a hill, are what looks to be a handful of buildings. "Like. really. Please leave. I don't know how much more obvious I can get."

She does not, in fact, leave. Seto groans and finally turns, deciding to walk instead, to see if she-

She follows. He doesn't even know her name. He mentally dubs her Annoying Guard, and continues on his way. Annoying Guard sticks with him, at a respectable distance, to his left and behind him. Her steps are nearly silent, but he sees her suddenly become on guard when he notices someone in the fields.

Seto stops walking, putting two fingers to his lips to whistle. The person stops tending to the crops and stands, raising a hand to shield their eyes from the sun. After a moment, they wave, and then lift off the ground. Annoying Guard doesn't let up from her defensive stance, and she steps in front of Seto.

"Seriously," he gripes, stepping around. She immediately blocks him. The angel lands a few feet from them, jogging to a stop. "Who might you be?" she asks, wiping her hands on her overalls. She frowns at Annoying Guard and Seto tries to step around. 

"State your business," Annoying Guard says, and Seto sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"Uh... The kid there called me over? Name's Cheyenne Alikye. And your name? And your, uh, the little kid's name?" Cheyenne leans around Annoying Guard, then freezes. "Holy _shit_," she whispers, and her face morphs into a mix of emotions. "You look like-"

Deciding to just get it over with, Seto bodily shoves Annoying Guard away, taking delight in the strangled yelp. "My name's Seto- Alikye. Uh... Kerberos was my mom?"

Cheyenne stares at him, wide eyes, and then slowly takes a step forward. Seto abruptly raises a hand in Annoying Guard's direction, stopping her from coming closer. He stares up at Cheyenne and can see through the foggy memories of his mother's face, and can put those to detail, can see just how similar they are.

"You look like her," the two of them say, almost synchronized. Cheyenne laughs, and it's almost heartbreaking. "Oh my lord! You look like Kerberos!"

"I- I- Are you her-"

"Sister. I'm her oldest sister." Cheyenne suddenly goes down to her knees, hands reaching up to cradle the sides of his face. She tilts his head back and forth and laughs again, and there are tears in her eyes. "She- She told us about you, you know. Whenever she could. She'd call, and- And all she would talk about was... you. Oh god, I didn't think we'd ever meet you. Oh, follow me. Come on, you have to meet everyone, they'll be so happy."

She gets to her feet and takes a step backward, grinning so wildly, so happily, that Seto immediately follows her into the air. They wing over the island, with Annoying Guard tagging along behind them, but Seto pays her no mind. 

The island is beautiful, from above. After cresting the hill and leaving the rice fields behind, he can see a small village. The houses are somewhat spread out, creating enough space between them for a semblance of privacy, if needed. There are playgrounds, he notices, and from where he's at he can see other kids playing - some much younger than him, and some around his age, and then a group of older fledglings off to the side. There are adults, too, meandering around. He doesn't watch too long, as Cheyenne makes a dive for the gazebo. He drops after her, trying to tilt his wings to get the shriek from the wind that she is. Annoying Guard tails them.

Cheyenne lands on the roof of the pavilion, whistling shrilly to gather attention. Landing lightly beside her, Seto looks around again, almost overwhelmed by how many people are there. 

"Dad!" Cheyenne calls, hopping from the roof and running to an older angel. Seto drops down after her, tagging along hesitantly. She says something, quickly, to her dad, and then he looks over at Seto, just absolutely beaming.

He doesn't expect to be almost tackled by the man. Stumbling back a few steps, Seto raises a hasty hand to Annoying Guard, who looks two seconds from stabbing someone. Seto hesitates, uncomfortably stiff in the embrace.

The man - his grandfather? - pulls away, holding him at arms-length. "Welcome home, kid."

[...]

09-02-47328

"Of course he'd want to stay the night, Martin." 

The tree cracks beneath the pressure of magic, splitting down the sides and finally tipping over with a crash. Martin whirls on Nitram, magic still crackling around him. "They're complete strangers, Nitram."

"They're still his family."

"Shouldn't I have gone with him?" Martin turns and hurtles another glob of raw magic at a different tree, smoke hissing from the corners of his mouth as he pants.

"I mean, you declined to in the first place."

"I thought he wouldn't have stayed over!" He returns to the original tree, letting electricity crackle through it. The leaves go up in flames and Martin stands at the uprooted end of the trunk, seething. "This is his home, right? Not them! He doesn't even _know_ them."

"Maybe it's for the best." Nitram shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the glare Martin sends his way. "He'll at least be out of the war this way, right? I looked into the family, and most of them are just plain civilians. He'll be evacuated to the safe-islands if anything happens."

"Remember what Cadance said?" Martin hisses, and his brother stops. "Seto's _going_ to be in this war. I just need to make sure he's with me when it happens."

Nitram stays silent. Martin finally turns back around and grips the roots in his hands. He heaves, heels digging into the dirt, then twists quickly, feeling his shoulders pop, and _flings_ the tree over his head. It comes crashing back down in the space between him and Nitram. Panting, Martin sits down on the trunk. "We have to start training him," Martin says, rubbing his eyes, "Before something bad happens."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? How would you even do it? I, personally, do not know anything about necromancing magic. There aren't any books on the subject, either."

"I'll... Figure something out." Maybe he can ask Aza. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Didn't he mention something about being a necromancer? Sure, the magic isn't different, but it has to be somewhat _similar_. Right?

[...]

09-04-47328

"Absolutely not."

"You're kidding me." Martin rubs his eyes, pulling at the corners and blurring his vision. "You're not even going to give me a few hints?"

"I'm not the one who's supposed to train him." Aza picks up a vase from the shelf, carefully turning it in his hands. "This is a nice piece," he says, looking up at the rest of the shelves. "Priceless?"

"Who knows? Are you sure you can't help?"

Aza seems to debate silently with himself. The silence stretches on for a while - Martin is almost hopeful. He sits up straighter, one arm leaning on the couch's armrest. "Hm... No, I think I have one like this already."

With that, Aza puts the vase back. Martin slumps back into the couch, groaning. 

"Where's your brother?"

"Out, right now - something about visiting Shūrin. Are you _sure,_ Aza?" He doesn't lift his head from the back of the couch, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Seto has, yet again, decided to spend another night. Nitram's been away for most of the day, and Martin already did his daily training and forms. There's not much to do. Aza's only here because Martin called him here.

Aza moves to a different shelf, gazing over it with his finger tapping his lips. "Yes, I'm sure- Ooh. This one is nice."

He does some complicated move with his hands and an intricately designed platter floats down from the top shelf. He holds out it at arm's length, studying the patterns. It vanishes after a moment and Martin rolls his eyes. "Did you just-"

"I don't think you need to mention that. But yes, I did. Where do you think Nitram's recipe book went?"

Martin sits upright, turning around to glare at him. "You stole it? He berated me for a week about losing it!"

"I had to have someone to frame. Stuff doesn't just disappear without reason, anyway." Aza waves him away, leaving that case to look at the rest of the shelves. They're sitting in the library, currently - or at least, one of the smaller libraries. It's remote, and out of the way of most of the palace. It's strange, though, because normally Aza won't go _near_ the palace.

"Great. Hey- Why are you here, then? If you're not going to help me?"

"Something wasn't happening fast enough- Times have, uh... Changed a bit." Aza casts Martin a strangely apologetic gaze. He's instantly on edge; Martin looks around the room, eyes darting to the hidden servant entrances. 

"What do you mean?"

"... That group. Les Anges Déchus," Aza mutters, hands stilling on a dusty old book. "Why did you join them in the first place?"

"Hey, you can't say something like that, and then also ask that question right after." Martin stands from the couch and turns in a slow circle, looking around. He spins back to Aza. "You said they were disbanded. You told me that."

Aza simply shrugs, but waves a hand as if to dismiss that certain worry. "No, no, well. They are. Most of them- Any that are left are just dabbling with small, petty crimes. Nothing big, like what you did."

"Look, I didn't know-! I didn't know that would happen!" Feeling cornered, Martin goes for the table and pulls one of his wings from it. He twists his arms back, popping it into the socket and locking it with a flick of magic. "That's not my fault."

"Yet you still did it." Aza doesn't look at him. He's still standing there, holding the book, just looking down at the cover. He slowly opens it, and there's a shuffling of paper before he shuts it again. Martin pulls his other wing on and heads for the door. 

"I called you here for help with Seto. I don't want anything happening to him, and-"

"Martin?"

He huffs and turns around on his heel, fists clenched at his sides. Aza finally looks at him, and his expression is unreadable. "What?"

"... I'm sorry. Brace yourself."

With that, he's gone. The book clatters to the ground. Martin sighs and stomps over, picking it up and glancing at the cover. _Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica. _

Sighing, Martin shakes his head and slots the book back into its place on the shelf. He turns back to the door and quickly leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what, you thought i forgot about seto having family over in the east?  
you're wrong.
> 
> (yeah no i did for a second there but i remembered before i posted this. im letting you know, this chapter went a completely different way than i had originally written. it took a while to redo, haha whoops sorry for that delay)
> 
> anyway, if you want a bit more conext into what kerberos went through, and to just... liven up the story a little bit more, go read the two-chapter short i wrote for her. ;)


	11. blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brace yourselves

09-06-47328

"Take this to Seto, Pakka." 

Papa's hands tie something to Pakka's remaining antler and then cup him by the snout. "Got it?"

"Take to Small-Thing, yes," Pakka answers, bobbing his head. His hide is itching, twitching, and his wings are already half-mantled. The air here is very very wrong, and he doesn't like it. This place was nice to be at first, but there is a building pressure somewhere within it, and Pakka _does not_ like it. He wants to go home, to the island where there is a pond full of fish, and mud to roll around in, and silly little other-fledglings that Small-Blood-Biter takes care of. He finds himself missing Small-Blood-Biter, suddenly, but pushes that thought aside. "Papa?" he asks, when Papa looks away to the sky. "Papa okay?"

Papa stares at him for a long, long moment, then sucks in a breath and puts on a fake-face. "Yeah, Pakka, I'll be okay. Get Seto, and make sure he reads that, okay?"

"Yes, Small-Thing reads." Pakka shifts his weight to one side, reaching up with a forepaw to curl his fingers around the back of Papa's head. "Not fail, Papa. When back?"

"As soon as you can." Papa scratches under his chin and Pakka lets out a _murr_ of happiness. Then Papa steps back, waving him away. Pakka shakes out his wings and starts to turn around, pausing when he sees Not-Papa up at the top of the stairs. He hesitates. There is something so, so wrong here. Why do they seem scared? Maybe sad? Pakka can't tell.

Shaking those thoughts from his head - because Papa is okay, he said he would be okay - Pakka turns and leaps into the sky, leaving the bad-air-feel behind.

Flying always calms him. It doesn't, though, not now. Now, as he flies over the East, he feels uneasy. He doesn't like it - it reminds him too much of when Bad-Master had him in a hole. He shakes himself, puffing his fur out to ward off the chill that has nothing to do with the wind. Several times on his flight, he stops mid-air to look back towards where he came. The growing sense of bad things creeping up is getting to him. He thinks he should return, but-

But Small-Thing needs to be safe, too. And Pakka has heard Papa and Not-Papa talk about strange not-family that Small-Thing has been spending the past few days with. Pakka knows that safety is not there, it is home, where Papa can take care of them.

But.

... Whining, Pakka sweeps out of his hover, picking up the pace. Papa had told him what way to go and had said he could stop to ask any angel for directions if need be. So, ignoring everything telling him to run back to Papa, he goes searching for Small-Thing.

[...]

"Oh, Pakka? What are you doing h-"

"We go now," Pakka barks, practically wiggling where he's standing. He eyes the not-family around them. They all look confused, but none of them seem to be aggressive or bad, so Pakka leaves them alone. "Go now. Papa need Small-Thing home."

"Why?" It's then Small-Thing seems to notice the note attached to his horn. He gestures with one hand and Pakka leans down, allowing him to untie it. Small-Thing unfolds the note and reads it, brows furrowing. He reads it again, and then looks up at Pakka. "I mean, I guess we can go... Let me say goodbye, though."

Pakka nods, sitting back on his haunches as Small-Thing goes to a clump of people. He tries to eavesdrop, but it's nothing too important. It riles Pakka that Small-Thing seems so sad to leave. They aren't his family- Why should he be so sad?

Huffing, he leans down, letting Small-Thing climb on. Twisting his head around, Pakka snuffles at his hair, and he snorts at the foreign smells. Giving him a good lick over his head-fur - to reaffirm his scent, and to also embarrass him - Pakka turns skyward. He inhales deeply, igniting the lift-air-fires in his belly, and launches into the sky.

After a few moments of flying, Small-Thing says, "Is... Is Martin okay?"

"Small-Thing ask stupid question," Pakka rumbles, but isn't all that sure himself, so he doesn't really give a yes or no.

"It's just- The note seemed... I don't know." Small-Thing leans forward, onto his neck, one hand petting through the silky fur. Pakka gives an appreciative purr, but cuts it short when Small-Thing says, "I don't know. I like them- I mean, they're my family. But Martin and Nitram _did_ raise me, sort of. You know?"

"Stupid," Pakka chides, "Papa not only mine, yours. Papa take care, feed, put not-furs on you, keep warm. Papa is Papa, both me and you, yes?"

"I- I guess. I mean, I'm not _really_ related to-"

"Papa is Papa." Yes, he's a bit snippy, a bit short, but Pakka thinks it's warranted. Small-Thing has not a good way of thinking! Things are simple and he is trying to make them not simple. 

Small-Thing huffs, the sound radiating frustrating, and Pakka pauses in the air to swivel his head around and glare at him with his good eye. "Papa is Papa, not strange not-family."

"They _are_ my family, Pakka!" Small-Thing throws his hands up. "They're my _mom's_ family! They raised her, they- They're my family-"

"Then Small-Thing stupid. Papa, Not-Papa, me, we all Small-Thing's family. Not can speak for Missing-Limbs and Not-Missing-Limbs and Tall-Old-Lady, but we family." Pakka wishes, so badly, he was able to bat Small-Thing over the head. He makes sure to remember to do so when they land. In fact, he might land now, just so he can get his point across by doing it. 

"But not by blood."

"Blood is nothing. Blood is liquid." Pakka, instead, smacks him with a whisker or two, simply to get some sense into Small-Thing's head. "Blood means not much. Aelaya is blood, for me, but I not love her. I not attached, not that much. Yes? You get, Small-Thing?"

"My name's Seto!" he exclaims, and promptly leaps from Pakka's back. Offended, Pakka flies after him, claws dangling down in front of him to obscure his flight path. "Stop calling me that," Small-Thing snaps, "Stop calling us stupid fucking names!"

Reeling away, Pakka snorts, hurting somewhere in his chest. "Small-Thing Seto, Seto Small-Thing- Not care! Me Pakka, but me learning not say Pakka. Say me, yes? Small-Thing cute. Cute not-name."

"Nickname- Fucking _hell_, I thought Martin taught you to speak." Small-Thing flaps harder, pulling in front of Pakka. He tucks his wings momentarily to drop when Pakka comes back over him. "Leave me alone."

"Mean Small-Thing," Pakka hisses, finally batting him with a paw - claws tucked away, carefully, so that he does not hurt him. "Mean is bad, yes? Say mean things, say sorry. Say, Small-Thing. Say sorry."

"No!" 

Finally, the palace is coming into view. Small-Thing quickly dives for an open area, Pakka right on his tail. Small-Thing hits the ground running, slowing to a walk. Pakka lands heavily in front of him, air whistling out from between his teeth as he lets out the lift-air-fires from his belly. He walks a circle around Small-Thing, trapping him. "Say sorry. Papa say it good to say sorry."

"Not until you call us by our names. Martin, Nitram, _Seto_."

"Fine!" Pakka snaps, tail lashing in anger, "Seto! Happy! Happy, _Seto_?"

At this, Small-... Seto, looks a bit taken aback. Pakka snorts smoke at him, baring his teeth. "I see no reason be mean! Papa want you home, want you with him. You not feel bad-air? Bad feel! Bad thing might happen, Papa want you h-"

Small-Thing's attention is suddenly taken away. Pakka halts mid-sentence, feeling it too. He shuffles, making sure to keep Small-Thing in his coils, and looks to the door.

"What's going on?" Small-Thing calls, suddenly scrambling over Pakka's sides and rushing to the door. Papa and Not-Papa are-

There are chains on their hands, and they are wingless. Pakka knows wingless angels are weak and he bolts after Small-Thing, claws scrambling on the cobblestone.

Small-Thing is arguing with a guard, but Pakka barrels past them, yelping when a forcefield raises and he slams into it. Papa jerks in his restraints - Several bad-angels are holding him back. "Wait! Wait, you can't hurt them, I swear to god if you-"

"Silence!"

"Papa?" Pakka whines, pacing the forcefield. It travels with them, as they descend the steps. "Papa, what do? What happen? What wrong?"

"Pakka, listen to m-"

Papa is shoved from behind. He loses his footing, nearly slipping down the stairs, and Not-Papa quickly catches his weight. Pakka roars, drawing all the attention to him. He leaps, slamming down on the shield. "Stop! Stop! No take him! No take Papa! Stop!"

Small-Thing is suddenly right there alongside the force field, calling out. A few angels are running towards them; Pakka whirls and lets loose a burst of flame. 

"Martin, what's going on?"

"Stay with Pakka- Seto, stay with Pakka, things will be okay, I-"

"Silence!" And suddenly the shield shoves Pakka away, making him go sprawling through the air. He shrieks, twisting, and rears his head back to flame the magic. It does nothing - licks of fire twirl around him and he jerks away, remember the feeling all too well. "Papa!"

"Wait, just let me talk to them- Muran! Muran, please, I need to talk to them!" Papa is shouting, wrestling with the evil-angels. Not-Papa tries to stop, as well, and suddenly Pakka realizes he's trying to stop _Papa_. What is going _on_?

Tracing Papa's line of sight, Pakka meets eyes with Not-Missing-Limbs. Muran. Hatred boiling in his chest, Pakka twists around and roars, flying for him.

And suddenly, more evil-angels are there, collapsing a shield down on him. He howls, battling and scratching and snapping his teeth anywhere he can. It presses down, down, until he's on the ground, cowering, unable to uncurl. It keeps pressing and he wails, wails, trying to suck in a full breath of air. There's more shouting, angry and scared voices mixing, and Pakka can't pick them out from each other. He whines, his chin pressing painfully into the stone ground. His breath comes in too-quick, shallow gasps.

Suddenly, Small-Thing is there, shoving people away. A few of them _stagger_; Pakka feels the magic wash over him, and suddenly there's a cool, hard encasement around his thoughts, blotting everything out. His perspective flip-flops. One moment, his- The next, Small-Things, and suddenly the shield shatters.

Small-Thing stands his ground, strong, and tall, and so so still, and Pakka rises from the stone and prowls forward.

An angel goes for him, and he snaps his head around and sinks his teeth into flesh. He rends, and tears, and chases anyone, everyone, away from Small-Thing. When he turns halfway around to blast an angel with fire, he sees Small-Thing standing there, eyes glowing brightly, limbs held stiffly at his side. He isn't moving. Pakka is forced to look away so that he can swipe someone out of the air. He doesn't control his own movements - A part of him is screaming, screaming to be set free from whatever icy hold is on him, but the rest of his mind is just...

Blank.

He rips and claws and gushes fire at anyone who gets near. He does not do any of this. He feels like a puppet- as if his limbs are being held by strings. His vision blurs in and out. Can dragons cry? Is he crying? Is this what it feels like? He doesn't want to do this- He can't- He's never killed before and-

There is metal in his mouth and he hates the color blue. His front half is covered in it, dripping with it, matting his fur to his scales and sticking in every crevice.

When there is nobody else to attack, he falls still. The shards of ice are still firmly held around him, and he feels so, so cold. So distant from... everything.

His gaze sets forward, but Muran is gone. His perspective flops to Small-Thing's. He's looking around. Papa, Not-Papa, everyone is gone. Evacuated? Maybe they ran? A strange energy is pulsing around him and Small-Thing, something foreign and something dark. It reeks, blotting out Pakka's sense of smell and sense of sight and hearing and-

And suddenly the ice is gone, melting away almost carelessly. He slumps to the ground, distantly hearing the clatter of wings as Small-Thing also collapses.

There are shouts coming from the palace. Pakka groans, limbs shaking as he pulls himself off the ground. He feels heavy and tired, but he still limps towards Small-Thing. Crooning, he leans down to nuzzle him, trying to wake him up. Pakka twists his head around to look around, growing uneasy by the shouting. More guards are pouring from the palace, some from the sky. They need to leave - now.

Small-Thing won't wake up, no matter how much Pakka nudges or shakes him, so he scoops the fledgling up and rises into the air. For a moment, his limbs and wings flail, and the lift-fires in his belly won't ignite properly. They catch after a moment, and Pakka hurries away, tail snapping in the air.

[...]

Small-Thing eventually wakes up. Pakka looks down as he moves in his paws. Quickly picking a fairly vacant island, Pakka alights in the grass and lays Small-Thing out, crooning, "Awake? Okay?"

Small-Thing groans, lifting a hand to his head. He rolls onto his side, and starts coughing. Panicking, Pakka bounces from foot to foot, hopping around Small-Thing like a worried bird. He isn't sure what's going on. Small-Thing's heaving gets worse until it goes into a gurgling, and then he's being sick. Pakka quickly rolls him further, onto his stomach. He'll choke if he's laying down, right? 

With that thought in mind, Pakka pulls him by his shoulders, hefting him up. Small-Thing weakly resists, still heaving. He calms down after a minute or two, slumping away from the pile of sick to catch his breath.

Holding his head, Small-Thing quietly rasps, "Where- Where are- Where are we?"

"Not know. Away." Pakka curls around him, ushering him under a wing and away from the foul-smelling puddle. "Small-Thing okay?"

Small-Thing groans quietly, pressing his eyes shut tight. He raises a hand to put on Pakka's snout but doesn't seem to have the strength to say anything. They sit there for a long time. The sun sets behind them, and Pakka stares down blankly at the blood covering his front. Eventually, he feels Small-Thing move under his wing. He's about to lift it when he hears the heavy sounds of wings beating the air.

Twisting his neck, he bristles - the blood on his fur makes it rise in spikes, feral in a way, and he hunkers low when Aelaya lands.

She snorts steam and stalks towards him, body held low in a hunting crouch. "What have you done?"

Pakka whines, whiskers flattening to the sides of his face. He lowers his head until his chin is on the ground, and stares up at her with pleading eyes. 

"What have you _done_?" She rears her head up, wings fanning out and smoke trickling from the corners of her mouth. "They will kill you! Do you understand that, Pakka? They-"

He darts forward, whiskers reaching out, to try and explain- He sends the images, the thoughts, the feelings- Then cowers back to the ground when he's done. She stares at him, blankly, for a long moment, then makes a strange huffing noise in her throat and goes to curl about him. "The fledgling, Seto? He did this?"

"Small-Thing not- No- _No_." He- He knows it must have looked like that, but- But Small-Thing wouldn't have...

Aelaya shuffles at his wing, lifting it up with her nose. Small-Thing flinches from the light, hissing and shielding his eyes. He blinks up at them, looking like he might be sick. 

"Are- It's my fault," he whispers, hoarsely, "I- I didn't mean to, I really, really didn't mean to I just- panicked, and now- Now Martin and Nitram are- And I-"

Pakka presses his nose against the side of Small-Thing's head, trying to calm him. When he pulls away, blue is smeared over Small-Thing's cheek and ear. He wipes it away, then glances down at his hand and hurriedly wipes it on his pants. "I'm just scared," he whispers, looking up at Aelaya. Pakka turns his eyes to her, as well. She sighs, sitting back, neck arching back to let her chin settle against it. 

For a long moment, she regards both of them, and then quietly says, "Okay. Okay, I have... I think I have a plan. Pakka, Seto... First off, Martin and Nitram have been arrested for- For terrorism and attempted regicide. I need to make that clear. I'm going- I'm going to do my best to prevent their- execution. But-"

"No! Papa can't- No! No!" Pakka leaps to his feet, untangling himself from the pile and pacing around. He digs into the ground with his claws. "No!"

"We're going to stop it, though," Small-Thing scurries out as well, turning to look up at Aelaya. "We have to, they can't- They can't _die_, I- Can I see them?"

"I'm sorry, Seto, but no." She reaches forward with a large wing, corraling them both back to her side. "Here is what will happen..."

[...]

09-07-47328

"But I'm gui-"

"Don't," Aza hisses, pressing his knuckles to Martin's mouth. He stares at him, hard, then settles back to where he's sitting on the concrete. "No. You'll plead _innocent_. Got that? You'll go with the story. let me hear it again."

Martin sighs, shuffling to the best of his ability. The ports dig into his shoulder blades from where they're pressed against the wall. The chains rattle when he moves. "I had... I went to the island that day to join the meeting. When I arrived, it had already been destroyed. I found N- Kaizen injured in the water, and we fled."

"Why did you flee?"

"I- I don't get why I have to-"

"Why did you flee, Lazarus?" Aza stares at him, brown eyes dark, and almost unnatural in the dim light. Martin casts a glance to the cell door. Aza waves a dismissive hand. "They won't hear. Why did you flee?"

"Because prior to me arriving at the island, I had found a plot to kill the royal family. I thought that if we fled, we'd be safe. I had known about the group, and briefly joined it, for only a few days several years before the accident. Sound good to you?"

"Don't get sarcastic, Martin." Aza sighs, rubbing his nose. "Look, I-"

"You did that on purpose, in the library. Didn't you?"

He pauses, then frowns at Martin. "You didn't read the note I left?"

"What note?"

"You didn't see the fucking note!" Aza stands, throwing his hands out. "How did you not notice? I even left the book on the ground, the corner even stuck out- How are you that _fucking_ oblivious?!"

"Look, I-" Martin moves to get up, but is harshly reminded he can't even stand when the chains tighten on him. He slumps back against the wall, looking away. "I- I didn't really..."

"But yes, I did that on purpose. it had to happen. It was going to, anyway. It just... wasn't happening fast enough." Aza starts pacing, muttering under his breath. Martin watches him for a long moment, glaring, before he asks, "What did the note say?"

"Nothing. Nothing of importance... I- Just stick to your story, Martin. Plead innocent. Don't let them know the truth, and things will turn out well. You have god looking down at you, after all."

With that, the dust where Aza had been settles into the empty space. Martin sighs, head hitting the wall. He stares up at the ceiling for a long moment, and then closes his eyes. He'd already made his decision, the moment they'd put the handcuffs on his wrists. He knows what he'll plead.

He just really, really hopes Nitram won't be dragged down with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW IM SO sorry it took me so long to update. haha whoops, ,, (again so, so sorry.)
> 
> as a side note, I'll be rewriting a lot of this series. I've already started on the first book (because, let's be honest, that one needs a lot of work.) and I'll be rewriting the second as well. That means this one will be updated slower, but i'll be updating the new ones so you'll have something to read, at least. (hopefully)  
And, also, this book will go a lot faster than the second. I have stuff planned, and it'sa bit more thought out than the second book. I won't lie, normally I just have a few plot points I wanna get to, and I fill in details as I go. So it makes stuff confusing and fuzzy, and my writing ends up suffering because of it. So, thanks for sticking with the series, if you're still reading.


	12. control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... yeah. im uh. oof. really, really sorry it took me so long to write this. post this, whatever. it's not even that long of a chapter. like, i almost had it finished months ago, just never..... tidied it up, i guess.  
oof.

09-10-47328

Aza lurks at the edge of the crowd, never staying in one spot. His eyes flick over to Pakka, who is chained down to the ground, warbling low in his throat, despairing. Aza sighs, shaking his head. There's nothing he can do for the poor thing- All he needs is to make sure Martin walks out of this alive. If the dragon dies, well- He wasn't really a part of the plan in the first place.

Pushing his way through a few angels, he gets to a spot where Martin can see him. The bastard won't even look, and Aza scowls. Why can nothing go right?

Nitram is walked up to the stand right alongside his brother. They both look miserable. Martin, weirdly, more dead than miserable. Aza squints. That's not the face of an innocent man. That's the face of a man that's about to royally fuck up.

"God damn it, Martin," he mutters under his breath, casting a glance up to where the elder brothers are. For once, Micah is showing his face during a trial. Aza takes a moment to look at their expressions and decides very suddenly that he regrets sending Martin up there under his own control. Maybe Aza should have hypnotized him? Brainwashed him? Sure, magic is strange, working between worlds, but he could have found a way to do it. 

They're grieving, Aza realizes, watching for minor twitches in their expressions. They're already grieving - or maybe they're just continuing on with it. Sucking his teeth, Aza looks around. Martin, damn him, isn't going to do his part. Hell, maybe Nitram won't, either. 

He rubs his eyes. Why can't anything just... go right, for once? Why does he have to do everything himself?

Where is Valius? He said he'd be here, too, in case something _did_ go wrong. Pulling away to the back of the crowd - wincing as the hammer slams to start the trial - he pulls his phone out and angrily jabs his thumb into the screen. Putting it to his ear and looking to where Muran is starting, he hisses, "Pick up, Valius, I swear to-"

"Hello?"

"Where are you?"

"Uh, busy?"

Restraining from snapping the phone, Aza hisses, venomously, "The trial is today, Valius. You better get your sorry ass here or I-"

"Look, Aza, you're going to have to handle it on your own. Something's wrong with sector-"

"This is the planet I _live_ on, Valius! Get your ass here, or I can guarantee that-"

The phone beeps as Valius hangs up. Standing there, phone still pressed to his ear, he hears:

"-destruction of property of the Royal Family, the murder of eight-hundred and forty-five innocent civilians, the murder of Generals-"

"God damn it," Aza mutters, earning a few hard looks from the people around him. He glares back at them, forcing jsut a bit of magic into his expression to frighten them into looking away. His gaze lands on Seto, and he cautiously walks over. The poor kid looks distraught- Aza would be, too, if his entire family was about to be executed.

"You know," he mutters, and Seto nearly jumps out of his skin. "Things will be fine."

"... Do I know you?"

"Not anymore, no," Aza mutters, mostly to himself. He awkwardly pats the kid's shoulder. "But things will be okay."

How does he deal with mortals, again? They're fragile- he knows, so he loosens his grip and lets his hand drop back into his pocket. Seto looks at him for a long moment-

"-and attempted regicide. Kaizen, son of Queen Kaitah and Prince Antonio, heir to King and brother to Micah, myself, and Lazarus, what is your defense?"

Nitram doesn't look over at either the King or Judge. Instead, his eyes cast over the crowd- And land on Aza. He pauses. Sighing, Aza shakes his head, gestures with one hand, and Nitram says, "Innocent. I plead innocent, your honor. My brother never told me of Les Anges Déchus, and never told me why we fled other than it was not safe here."

"And you, Lazarus, son of-"

"I plead guilty."

A murmur shivers through the crowd and Aza tenses, scowling. Martin doesn't look at him, doesn't look at anybody. His eyes are trained somewhere else. "I joined Les Anges Déchus on my own free will, with a sane mind, and was tasked with destroying the island. I had been led to believe the western Generals would be there, and not my own family, but that does not lessen my crime. I never told my brother of my intentions and of what I had done. I had only told him that it was not safe here. I... I plead guilty of all aforementioned crimes."

There's a silence among the crowd. Muran and Micah stare over at him, but he doesn't meet their gaze. Suddenly, the hammer cracks down. All eyes turn to Muran; he stares down at where he'd struck the hammer. And, slowly, he says, "Kaizen is innocent. Charges against Pakka have been dropped. And Lazarus- With the admission of guilt, and the evidence stacked against you, I- I hereby give you your sentence. Lazarus, son of Queen Kaitah and Prince Antonio, heir to Judge, First General of the West, and brother to- to Micah, myself, and Kaizen, you are to be executed by- by a single shot, ef-effective immediately. Do you have any last words?"

Martin is silent for a long moment, and finally, his eyes drift down to land on Aza. There's too much in that look to unpack in one moment. Martin shakes his head. "No. I don't."

"I do," Aza hisses, and- _unfolds_.

[...]

Later, people will talk. They will say, _The Royal Family has been Judged by God, and God saw something in them so broken, that He had to fix it himself._

They will say, _God sent down a piece of himself, and it was monstrous. God sent down a dragon like no other, and he used its throat as the Metatron, and used its body as his own._

They will say, _It was beautiful_. _It was horrifying._

But now, now is not later. Martin watches in horror as the thing rises from where Aza had been. It's vaguely dragon-like, with too many eyes scattered across it. Spines rattle from its back, shivering like leaves in harsh gales. It rises from the crowd, somehow so careful not to crush anybody underfoot. Brilliant white, almost as if it is cut out from reality. It's hard to look at - hard to understand. It's maw opens, closes, the teeth clicking and clattering against each other. Two pincers on either side of its head, about eight times as large as Martin is tall. 

With a huff, as if it is exasperated, it shakes itself out. Jointed, insectoid legs slam into the ground. (Again, careful not to even brush against any of the bystanders.) 

Nitram stumbles back against him. Martin, himself, is shaking. He knows Aza- He's spent time with him, had gotten to know and maybe somewhat understand him. He'd met the Gods before but they had still resembled something human. This, though- This is-

There aren't words for it.

Its belly splits open, a new mouth gaping all the way down, centipede-like arms waving in the air. Black, inky slime drips down, and when it hits the ground, it hisses and spits and eats at the stone. Crashing down on its forepaws, it prowls forward, the rest of its coiling body rising above the crowd and its edge slipping off the island. Even so, Martin has a distinct feeling that Aza - if that's even him - is keeping himself small.

"You may be Judge of the mortal realm," the thing clicks and hisses at Muran, "But I am Judge and Jury of the Ascended."

Martin can't move. He thinks he's frozen, there, in time, unable to look away but wishing he could. Many among the crowd are weeping, covering their eyes. The thing slides around the back of his and Nitram's stand, and the hairs on his neck rise at the thought of it being behind him. Its head snakes around, twisting at an unnatural angle to peer at Muran and Micah. "I deem them _both_ innocent, King, Judge. I hereby announce their... _sentence_."

The word slithers out from its teeth; Martin tries to reach up to cover his ears, only to remember that his hands are shackled to the podium in front of him. 

"There will be no holy meddling except for mine," it says, head lowered to Muran and Micah's level. Its _eye_ is as large as the blacksmithing island at home. "There will be no execution, and no talk of this trial again. All charges are dropped. I give my Commandment, with this. There will be no retribution for the shame and grief this one has brought upon your family, and for that I am sorry." A leg brushes against Martin's arm and it _burns_ him. He flinches back when some of the ink drips down in front of him. Aza- Or, the thing, has its head hovering nearly above them now, protective, staring over at Muran and Micah. "But there shall be no interfering with the Holy plans. Yes, he is guilty. But no, he will not be punished by way of death. _That_ will be the final sentencing."

Then it sits up, its movements slow, nearly pained, as if its seams can't stay stitched together. "I declare them _innocent_."

And then the thing is gone, and the air cracks down on the empty space. Thunder rumbles outward, deafening. Martin's jerked back, the only reason he's still standing is the handcuffs. Nitram slowly picks himself up from his knees, staring out at where it used to be. "Was that-?"

"Not now," Martin hisses, glancing around wildly. The crowd is in an uproar, most of them fleeing. Seto flutters through the people, scrambling to get to the podiums. Martin nearly doesn't notice him, still searching the chaos for Aza. And- in the back, standing in a clear circle where the people split around him, is Aza. Staring towards him, one eyebrow raised, lips set in a firm frown, and anger behind his eyes.

"-rtin, Martin! Your fucking _shirt_ is on fire!" 

Martin blinks and looks down, just now noticing the flames eating at his right arm and shoulder. He reaches to pat it out but remembers his hands are chained when the cuffs burn into his already-sore wrists. Seto is suddenly there, pulling his flight jacket off of him and using it to extinguish the fire. He's scared, obviously, eyes wide and tail lashing, but he doesn't say anything. 

The roar of the people is distant, for some reason. There's a ringing in his ears. Martin blinks slowly, still looking down at his right arm. When Seto pulls the jacket back, blue peels off with it. The poor kid drops it, staring in horror at the blue flesh that's still bubbling with heat. 

Tearing his eyes from the sight, Martin looks back out to the edge of the crowd.

There's nothing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh.  
well.  
maybe leave a comment? it'll help, probably. make me get off my ass and actually write this series out.


End file.
